The Three-fold God
by Kijin
Summary: Due to a mistake by Genma during a training expedition, Ranma is roped into becoming something he detested : an Assasin. Years later, after Jusendo, he starts to remember...
1. Prologue

  
  
  
  
Everything started innocently enough.  
  
Genma thought that one little job wouldn't hurt. Both   
Father and Son hadn't eaten for days, so things could be   
blamed to survival. After that, he was pretty sure another one   
didn't matter. After all, it's all for boy's sake, isn't it?   
That he was given a hefty sum for the theft hadn't registered   
in his brain. Or rather, he conveniently forgot about that   
piece of information.  
  
Their employers had been extremely impressed by the   
spectacular performance of the duo that they *persuaded*   
the Saotome patriarch with money several times what he had   
received earlier. Genma immediately jumped at the chance.   
Didn't wise men say 'Third time's the charm'?  
  
Genma promised himself that this would be the last. The   
sound of thick wads paper bills slapping against each other   
was too seductive, though. So agreed that himself and his son   
would be willing for one final endeavor.  
  
This turned out to be a huge mistake. One that he'd be   
paying for the rest of his life. The task seemed simple enough.   
'Retrieve' a certain experimental curiosity from an old   
inventor's humble lab. Things went smoothly enough, at first.   
Then they found out that their employers had deliberately   
understated the dangers, so their chances of survival would be   
reduced to nil. No one would be able to pin the source of   
the previous thefts and their machiavellian origins.   
  
The Saotomes found themselves hip-deep in government   
soldiers inside a heavily fortified research lab. Needless   
to say, all hell broke loose.  
  
The both of them fought valiantly. Incredible feats of   
strength and speed rendered some speechless. Years of   
martial-arts training clashed against the most sophisticated   
of modern weaponry. Armored bodies lay broken and bleeding in   
various painful poses. It was a brilliant tribute to the strength   
of the human spirit against the power of technology. They were   
winning.  
  
The soldiers, that is.  
  
Bodies continued to pile up. But more continued to come   
in, replacing those that had fallen. It was a never-ending tide   
of elite footmen against the two bare-handed warriors. The   
melee seemed to stretch forever.  
  
Genma knew if they kept up, he and his son would die.   
Every hope he had lay on his son, so he chose the most noble   
way out. He had no choice, but to stave off their attackers   
himself and have his son escape. Telling his son to leave, the   
hankied master fought with his every skill, evading metal slugs   
and gauntleted fists.  
  
A bullet hit him, then another, and another one, until   
he could barely even stand on his feet. Still, he struggled to   
rise.  
  
The sight of his Father standing torn and bloodied made   
young Ranma's blood boil. His Oyaji might a jerk and an asshole,  
but he was still father, and he loved him like a good son ought   
to. The boy screamed in primeval anger, his howls turning   
everyone's blood run cold. His pigtail stood straight up,   
hackles raised. Eyes feral and cold. The Nekoken unleashed.   
Only this time powered by a conscious mind, and deliberate   
intent, to kill.  
  
The boy tore through the remaining soldiers with inhuman   
grace and speed. Weapons and limbs alike were sliced cleanly.   
Fear ran rampant within the once orderly squadrons. Crimson   
pools flooded the once stark-white floors. In less than a   
minute, the facility became silent, except for the dripping   
droplets of blood and the pained hisses of the few survivors.  
  
Ranma smiled with cold pleasure. The delicious scent of   
fear from his enemies and the ease in which he cut them into   
ribbons gave him a heady sense of...freedom. This was what his  
skills truly stood for. Everything he knew, Ranma now learned,  
was the knowledge in which to hasten the death of his opponents,   
by his hands. He was the master of life, the bringer of death.  
  
His earlier persona, however, would not lose the fight.  
This was the very thing he stood against, the murder of   
innocents! Wasn't a martial-artist supposed to Help, not to   
hurt? Where was his fabled honor? The 'man amongst men' his   
mother waited for? Was the Oath he took to follow the Way   
of the Warrior, Bushido, as meaningless as his Father's   
promises?  
  
The boy swayed on his feet. The influx of conflicting   
information was too much. He collapsed against the unconscious  
form of his Father, amidst the bodies of dead men and broken  
weapons.  
  
A few hours later, the remaining survivors called for   
support. Several more hours later, the Saotomes were   
manacled and placed in a maximum security cell. When they   
both woke up, both wished to wake from the nightmare their   
life had turned into.  
  
The nightmare had only begun.  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
"These are your orders. You shall follow them word for   
word. A standard B-2 assault bomber will a send you to a   
designated pickup site, then a modified SR-71 will transport   
you to the Drop Zone at 0130 tomorrow. Is everything clear?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Very well. That is all."  
  
He turned abruptly without preamble, leaving most of the  
'Lackeys' behind the desk-stuck figure angry and insulted. It  
was gross insubordination of a superior officer! All of them   
were newly stationed in the Base, so were quite surprised when  
the General showed no outward reaction to the disrespectful   
exit.   
  
The General eyed the newbies standing file with an   
amused eye. "Alright, since you're all new here, I would first   
like to congratulate everyone for being chosen as the   
Government's most elite members of your specific branches. Each   
of you will be given an assigned team, which will be the   
template for the mission parameters issued to you. As your   
Highest ranking officer, and head of this project, you will   
answer only to me. Other officers will be delegated my commands,   
though. For now, go to your assigned quarters and unpack. Then   
report to the briefing room in 1300 hours. Dismissed!"  
  
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Came the chorus of replies.  
  
"Oh, One more thing, gentlemen." The General stood up,   
and walked towards the window behind his desk.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"That guy you saw before, the one I talked with before   
you?" Nods. "Word of advice: Don't ever piss him off." He   
snickered at their incredulous faces. "Well, what are you   
waiting for? Get out of here!"  
  
They snapped smartly, "Sir!" and about-faced, leaving   
the General within the privacy of his thoughts.  
  
'I wonder, how long will the newbies learn before they   
heed my warning?"  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
"Hey, I'm all done here. And we still have a coupla'  
hours to spare, too!"  
  
"Man, can you believe the last thing he said? 'Don't  
ever piss him off'? Why'd we have to watch ourselves with the   
kid?" Complained one of the recruits.  
  
"Maybe he's the Boss's son. He probably wouldn't want   
us to hurt his 'precious' boy." Said another, contemptuously  
  
"Nepotism isn't really that rare, you know."  
  
"I wonder what he's doing in this base, though. This   
place's as far from the cities as can possibly be. This is no  
place for a kid."  
  
"Maybe, he's..."  
  
All speculation stopped the moment the subject of their   
conversation stepped inside the barracks. He wore a pair of   
tattered fatigues tucked into soft, ankle high boots. And a   
black leather jacket over a white, sleeveless shirt, nearly   
obscuring a black choker from view. His raven black hair   
was tied into a loose ponytail, his bangs extending to cover   
most of his face. The said boy walked slowly towards a locker,   
taking out a small bag and started to pack, occasionally   
placing a few things on the bed.  
  
"Speak of the devil..."  
  
"Hey, what's he doing here?"  
  
"Ya think a general could give his progeny a decent   
room..."  
  
"Maybe he's not really the General's son?"  
  
"Let's go ask him."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Two of them proceeded to where the boy. They struck a   
nonchalant air, seemingly relaxed and carefree.  
  
"Hey, Kid." Said the blue-shirted soldier.  
  
There was no answer.  
  
Annoyed, but keeping cool, he tried again.  
  
"Hey, KID!"  
  
The boy continued to arrange things into the pack.  
  
"Are you deaf kid?!"  
  
"No."  
  
By now, blue-shirt was irritated.  
  
"Why didn't you answer earlier?"  
  
"You didn't ask."  
  
The new recruits a ways behind them began to laugh.   
They didn't notice the other occupants, those stationed here   
for some time, grew exceedingly nervous.  
  
Blue-shirt narrowed his eyes. 'Smart aleck.'  
  
"So, the general your Father?"  
  
"No."  
  
Puzzled, he continued to grill him.  
  
"Are your parents in the base, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
He began to grow angry at the casual monotone the boy   
answered him with.  
  
"Then what the hell are you doing here, anyway?!"  
  
The Barracks went silent. The recruits wondered why   
every other soldiers inside began to look the other way. It   
sounded like their teeth were chattering. And they call   
themselves Men, they snorted.  
  
The boy stopped his packing for a while, turning around  
to face his inquisitor. There was the barest hint of a smile in  
his lips, the first emotion they'd ever seen until now.  
  
"I do what I'm told."  
  
The recruit got tired of the way their conversation circled   
around.  
  
"An what are you usually told to do, *KID*."  
  
If anything, the boy's smile grew. But it never reached   
his eyes, now revealed as a pair of ice blue orbs, when he   
raised his head. The air dropped a few degrees at the sight   
of the azure irises.  
  
"I kill people."  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
The fools. They think their posturing would be enough to   
intimidate anyone. All they rely on is their weapons. To them,  
it is what makes them soldiers. Idiots.  
  
I return to packing a few paraphernalia's needed for a   
week of reconnaissance. A mission that would end with the   
termination of all personnel inside the secret lab that the   
Government deemed as illegal, and potentially dangerous to   
the state. Typical operation.   
  
I ignore the whispering behind me. The new recruits are   
being educated in the standard rules inside this base, by the  
veterans. They have only one rule : Stay out of my way, and do  
not piss me off. Smart people. And here I thought an old dog  
couldn't be taught new tricks.  
  
The recruits listen with unbelieving ears, and whisper   
urgently in outright skepticism. They do not know that I can   
hear them as clearly as if I had been beside them. The Veterans  
try to shush them, but are only partially successful. I know  
of one way, out of dozens, to expedite silence.  
  
Slowly, I reach for the blades that I am feared of. One,   
a standard Katana, with a plain hilt and leather wrapped handle.  
The other blade was slightly longer, but it hid a most unusual   
secret, in a plain, wooden facade. Simple, they were seen as at  
first glance. That's where the true deceptions lay.  
  
Each of the blades were crafted by the finest of Japan's  
sword makers, The smiths that were known for their skill, that   
surpassed the weapons made by the well-known Toledo smiths.  
Their skill shaped the blades, and the Governments most   
intelligent of physicists and metallurgists provided the   
technology to do so. And the strangest fact of all, the blades  
did not bear an edge, on both sides, but that did not reduce   
their effectiveness. A masterful combination of Centuries-old  
Techniques, and the latest modern science could offer. These  
were the sigils that signified my status in the upper echelons  
of the urban predators.  
  
I slowly draw the Katana out of its sheath. Softly, the   
blade hissed, as if in relief for being out of its prison. It  
was the sound of its whisper, I knew, that chilled their bones,  
and made their blood run cold.   
  
Instantly, all sound ceased. I smile ever so slightly,  
having achieved my goal. As softly as a falling leaf, The   
katana went back in its sheath. I returned to my preparations.  
  
A few more moments, I was finished. I shucked the duffle   
bag over my shoulder, and proceeded towards the entryway. Before   
I left, I stopped for a moment. There is something I forgot to  
do...  
  
"Masayo."  
  
The said soldier gulped as I graced him with my attention.  
  
"Uh...Yes?"  
  
"I expect these Chambers to be immaculate when I arrive  
in a week."  
  
"Yes, Sir!" He trembled.  
  
I nodded in response, and continued outside. The transport  
would leave in 13 minutes, dropping me to another pick-up station.   
It might be best to keep any delays in this endeavor.  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
"I'm so dead..." Masayo paced around, slightly out of it.  
  
"Cheer up, Masayo-kun!" Another soldier tentatively   
offered a cheer. "We'll help you in any way we can. Don't   
worry!"  
  
"Easy for you to say! You're not the one who has to do all the   
bleeding!"  
  
"Look on the bright side," Another ventured, "At least he'll   
be gone for a week."  
  
One of the new recruits couldn't take it anymore. "I can't  
believe this shit! You're letting an Anti-social brat walk over   
you, just because he says he kills people! Big deal, well, so do  
we! Maybe it's high-time somebody put him in his place."  
  
The one named Masayo suddenly grabbed his collar, and   
hauled the surprised recruit from his position in the bunk.  
  
"Listen kid, and listen good. You will follow our rules   
here, and we'll be here to make sure that you do." Spittle  
flew out in his frenzy. "I have no intention of dying just  
because some hotshot graduate from the Academy thought he  
knew better than me. So just sit back, and follow our lead!  
If my mates get their heads decapitated, I'm taking you with   
them!"  
  
Stunned, the recruit sat back on the bunk. He truly   
was awed by the sincerity of the man's words, that his very   
survival relied on a boy that had yet to reach adulthood.  
  
"You're serious, aren't you?" His comrades gathered   
around him, as Masayo weaved a story he had told a hundred   
times.  
  
"Mate, I simply can't stress the importance of staying   
out of his bad side. The Kid's got license to kill anyone,  
as long as he gets the job done. That includes us."  
  
Needless to say, they were shocked. "What?! Can't  
the General do anything about him? Order him or something?"  
  
"Mate," Masayo sighed, "The kid isn't under the General's  
jurisdiction. All the Base Commander does is to give him orders,   
Orders that come from up high. *Very* high."  
  
They goggled. Another asked the obvious. "If he's so   
dangerous, Why don't we just gang up on him when he's out   
of control, then?"  
  
"I once saw that kid slice a Tank artillery shell in half,   
and the *Tank* too, all the while catching all the slugs fired   
from a machine gun. And he did it one-handed. Now tell me how   
are we going to stop someone like that..."  
  
Silence reigned supreme, each man contemplating the info.  
All came up with one question.  
  
"Is he...Human?"  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
He waited inside the hangar under the wing of the plane,  
in all appearances calm and composed. Yet inside, he swum in  
a virtual maelstrom of strong emotions. Tonight, he would see  
his son. A son, he hoped, that still remembered him as his   
father.  
  
Soon after their capture, the boy had been dragooned  
into doing operations that should never have been done by  
a child. He should have taken it, himself. But they had  
been adamant. A boy could easily be molded into what they  
thought as the perfect fighting machine. They held him in  
a cell, in case his son thought to betray them.  
  
As it turned out, his imprisonment would not be necessary.  
He followed orders like was born to it. Many could feel his   
unswerving loyalty to his superiors, but that was it. Only   
loyalty, not respect. They knew that as long as he had his   
orders, he would be forever tied with the Government's visions.  
But, what if, they no longer needed the boy? What if, then?  
  
They would not kill him, could not kill him. He had taught   
him the forbidden schools to aid in his survival, and dozens   
of other masters taught him what they could. The Government made  
a warrior they could never get rid of. Even with most of his  
strength restrained, like it is now, It would take a full-scale  
war to see his demise.  
  
'He is coming.' The Gi-clad martial artist stood up and   
went to meet his Child.  
  
As soon as he saw him inside the hangar, he rushed up to   
talk to his son, knowing that he had only a few minutes. He saw   
the boy stride gracefully, more like floating than walking.   
This was his chance.  
  
"Son..."  
  
The boy stopped, and inclined his head.   
  
"Tousan."  
  
He struggled with words. Talking was never his strong suit,  
unless there was a deal in the making.  
  
"Son...how are you? Well, I hope?"  
  
"As well as can be, under the circumstances."  
  
He winced. The boy did not know how that hurt him.  
  
"Does the Seal still hold? The amulet, I mean."  
  
"Even with the amulet gone, the Seal shall hold for  
a long time, unless *I* choose to break it. You know the  
specifics."  
  
The boy had lost his familiar, choppy inflections,  
replaced by an almost archaic accent and formality. One of  
the changes, he surmised.  
  
He knelt before his son, grieving for the fates that  
he would encounter. This was his only chance at redemption.  
  
"Son...please. Come back to us. You're...mother...is  
waiting for us." Tears leaked from his eyes. "My son, please  
come back to us..."  
  
Something seemed to flicker behind the boy's blue eyes.  
But that flicker was gone in an instant, replaced by casual  
indifference to his plight.  
  
"I have a job to do. Do not attempt to disturb me again."  
  
He threw his bag inside the plane, and walked outside   
to wait for the pilots to come out, leaving his father weeping   
on the floor.  
  
The middle-aged man knelt on the floor, silently asking   
the Kami's forgiveness. He had done this to his boy. Would he  
ever see what he had become?  
  
He turned to stare at his retreating back, his gait   
elegant and deceptively gentle, hiding power and speed underneath  
the tattered vestments. The boy- no- the *Man* had become   
everything he had hope to become: a great martial artist. But  
that power came at the price of his soul.  
  
"You're Mother would have been proud of you, my Son."  
he murmured, amidst the tears. "But would she be proud of what  
you have become?"  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
I didn't think Tousan would come. It was a visit I did   
not care of. It reminded me of things long forgotten, memories  
best left behind. As I waited for the plane to leave the hangar,  
I fingered my choker. It held a tiny oval crystal, of some   
unknown dark crystal. It was the only thing that held my Ki   
in check, limiting my abilities. It is for the best, I think.  
  
Besides, I know that killing me is next to impossible.  
  
I want to feel the wind run through my hair. I untie  
the string that held my long raven locks together, and reveled   
in the feeling of freedom as the breeze fondled each   
individual strand. Such emotions, rarely felt when inside the   
oppressive confines of the barracks, send a tingle in my chest.   
A tiny reminder that I have not truly lost who I was, to what   
I have become.  
  
'What Am I?', you may ask. Even I do not know how to  
satisfy such a question. I can only give a close approximation  
in response.  
  
I am Saotome Ranma, age 14, Grand Master of the Musabetsu   
Kakutou Saotome Ryu. Master of a thousand martial disciplines,  
taught by masters of many more. I am the Government's favorite   
Assassin, the one they send when every one else fails. The   
Slayer of Shadows, Shinigami. No, not Assassin. The term is   
too...common...inelegant. There is only one that suits me the   
most.  
  
I am Saotome Ranma. I am Hitokiri.  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
Notes :  
  
This idea actually came from the result of watching too  
many Ruroni Kenshin episodes. So came up with this story.  
  
What if Genma made stupid mistake, and Ranma had to pay   
for it? What if Ranma was an Assassin? These were the questions   
that gave rise to this story. The Idea also came from Gahleon's  
Fic 'Shadow of Ranma'. You can find his stories at   
http://www.members.tripod.com/Ghaleon_WG/  
  
C&C are sorely needed. Any suggestions for the title on  
the Ranma0.5/Dual! crossover?  
  
Send all C&C to carlopim@yahoo.com . Flames will be used to   
fuel the Steam locomotive I keep in my backyard.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 1

  
  
  
A Ranma 0.5/Rurouni Kenshin Crossover  
  
  
The Three-fold God  
  
  
By Kijin  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
He walked across the streets of Nerima with a casual   
grace, the gait of a man who knows who is supreme in this   
little town. Idly, he strolled around the twists and turn of   
the avenues, seemingly without following any sort of directions.   
He looked this way and that, at all the curios sold inside   
various windows. He caught the eye of many a woman, with them   
gazing an admiring glance at his well-built form, and comely   
visage. He smiled at their attention, gracing the adoring females   
with a winsome smile. Many fainted on the spot. He continued  
on his way, unaffected by the havoc he caused among the female   
half of the population.   
  
He was searching for something. What, he didn't know.  
All he knew was that when he would find it, he would know.  
So he walked on, the brilliant lights of downtown Tokyo   
flashing in his wake.  
  
"You Hentais! Happo-go-en-Satsu!" cried a squeaky  
tone.  
  
A wave of Ki followed the scream, to be absorbed   
through a physical focus in the shape of a fifty-yen coin. It   
left in its wake a group of men lying weak and spent on the   
cold and hard pavement. He smiled as he approached the now   
full-grown woman.  
  
"Truly, they are a boorish lot." He commented, borrowing  
the phrase from an...acquaintance...of his.  
  
"You!" She exclaimed, spinning around to face him. "It's  
way past your curfew! You should be in bed, now!"  
  
"And with whom, may I ask." He replied with aplomb.   
"You, I hope? It would be a great *pleasure* then, to be with   
the company of one so gifted by the gods with unsurpassed   
beauty and grace."  
  
She blinked. He didn't just come on to her, did he?  
  
"Ah yes. Such beautiful, liquid windows to your vibrant   
soul. And endless pool of purest ebony, framed by the elegant  
rivers of your gossamer tresses. Truly, as sight most wondrous   
to behold."  
  
She blushed. She'd never been complimented like this   
before life. Most men tended to skip this part and go right  
to the groping. Flowery words were not in her admittedly  
limited experience with men. She hadn't expected anyone to   
pay her the tribute of words, especially not *HIM*.  
  
She frowned in suspicion. "Are you being a delinquent   
again?"  
  
"How harshly you judge me so, my Lady!" He took the  
opportunity to walk closer to her. "I merely paid homage  
to the beauty of one of the wonders of the world, namely,  
you. It that so heinous a crime?"  
  
She shivered for a moment, as she felt his indigo   
eyes lock onto her own hazel hues. Wait a minute. *Indigo*?   
It wasn't supposed to be his eye color, was it?  
  
She turned and walked away nervously. Things were  
getting a bit too creepy for her taste. She shuffled   
hurriedly out of his immediate vicinity, trying to ignore   
the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.  
  
"Perhaps I should accompany you to your domicile. This  
hour is filled with dangers from the more incorrigible of  
the population. It would only be proper for a young Lady  
like yourself to be accompanied by an honorable gentleman.  
I humbly offer my services."  
  
'Damn it'. She thought to herself. 'Since when did  
he talk like a Renaissance prince?' She considered his offer.  
While he might have changed a bit, she doubted if his honor  
wasn't intact. He was the single most honorable person she  
knew of, not that it meant a great deal in a place like  
Nerima.  
  
She relented. "Very well. But don't even think about..."  
  
"I assure you, my lady, I have only the most honorable  
of intentions." He interrupted. "I can stay a minimum of a two  
feet distance if you fear me to be a lecher."  
  
She stared hard at him for a moment, then walked on.  
  
"Come on. It is late. I have to prepare for classes for   
tomorrow."  
  
He smiled to himself. She didn't know it, but she   
inevitably fallen deeper inside his entrapment, though by  
the end of this night, he doubted if she would protest her  
predicament.  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
As they walked back to her residence, He started to   
engage her in casual conversation. The topic ranged from   
simple, everyday things, to the varying opinions concerning   
the current Government's status. In spite of herself, she   
unknowingly began to draw closer towards him, as the   
conversation leaned into the realm of the intimate. As they   
came closer to her home, she had already held his muscular   
arms to her bosoms, gripping the steel hard appendage with  
enough force to crush those of lesser men.  
  
She had never felt safer in her life. She felt as if the   
world ended and began in the embrace of his arms. If she   
could, she would have preferred to remain in this comforting   
enclosure forever. She truly understood just now that she had   
always been alone, starved for companionship. Now that she   
knew how it felt to want and to be wanted in return, she felt   
that she could never go back to her previous state of apparent   
non-existence. She would do anything to keep feeling this way.  
Anything.  
  
All too soon, she heard him declare their arrival. They  
stood in front of her apartment building, staring into each  
other's eyes.  
  
"As I have promised, a safe passage towards your   
home."  
  
She trembled at the throaty tone. It was too seductive   
for her own good. She didn't want him to go. She wanted to,  
at least, feel him beside her in her room, holding her   
tenderly. She wanted to know the warm, male embrace, and  
he was most certainly a Man amongst men. She wanted, no,  
*desired*, to KNOW him, in the biblical sense of the word.  
  
"I...I...well..." She struggled to blurt out the words,  
feeling warm under his eyes. "You know...that...uhm..."  
  
He laid a hand at her shoulder, and she had to force   
herself not to brush it with her cheek.  
  
"I understand what you request, Beautiful one." His   
tone was light, airy. "You wish for me to stay with you for the   
night, do you not?"  
  
She nodded gratefully, thankful that he said what she  
could not utter.  
  
"The sanctity of a lady's bedchamber is one I always  
hoped I would never sully. The disgrace that it would bring to  
both you and me will be disastrous. I cannot, in good   
conscience, take advantage of what you offer."  
  
She lowered her head, ashamed at the supposed rebuke.  
She wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground,   
unable to face the disappointed expression she was sure to   
see.  
  
"But who am I to tell a lady of your stature of the  
intricacies of public mores? A beautiful woman has offered  
that which is most precious to her. How can I not partake of  
the fount of love that she would reveal to me in the fullness  
of the night? Who am I to refuse her? Am I not a gentleman,  
as I had confessed before?"  
  
Her eyes shone like twin stars.  
  
"You understand, of course, that I could not stay with  
you until the morn. I have several...pressing engagements...I  
need to attend."  
  
She nodded. Taking his other hand in her own, she pressed  
the warm palm against the firmness of her bosom.  
  
"Make me a woman tonight, gentle warrior. Teach me how to   
love a man, as a woman should..."  
  
"Of course, Hina-chan..."  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
Ranma woke up before the sun had peeked out of the   
horizon, intent on another day of practice before school. He  
estimated that he would have about an hour and a half before  
breakfast. He quickly ran outside the Saotome home and placed  
himself in the center of the yard.  
  
He sought to find his center before he began his kata,  
breathing the air around him deeply. In a few minutes, he   
was ready to begin.  
  
He began a series of forms that showed the impressive  
control he had over his body. It emphasized grace and   
gentleness, one that seemed too slow for the usual chaotic  
contortions he reserved for a fight.  
  
It was funny, actually. He'd never remembered learning  
this particular form of kata before. But the stances, the  
flows...it all felt so familiar. As if bridging a gap between  
his body and spirit. No, there was something missing. He ran   
back into the Saotome home to get something.  
  
When he came back out, he was carrying a bokken in his  
hands. He didn't understand why, but the Kata felt like one   
made for the sword. He stepped back into the center of the yard.  
That was when he danced.  
  
Smooth, powerful motions of the wooden blade blended   
seamlessly with the graceful waves of his body. As he flowed   
from one stance to another, a part of his mind that was   
previously locked gradually opened, slowly allowing him access   
to a hidden part of his psyche. He knew, deep in his heart,   
that for everything to be revealed, he had to lose himself on   
the Kata's forms.   
  
At one second, he was as graceful and slow as the tides,  
moving with exquisite perfection of a master. Then, he   
became a flurry of arms and legs, moving at speeds that none  
had ever witnessed since the creation of the Martial Arts. He   
lost himself in the beauty of the Kata, alternating speeds and   
power. He felt so at peace with himself.  
  
That peace shattered at the sound of loud applause.  
Startled, he turned quickly to face its source. He found his  
Mother standing on the engawa, looking proudly at him with  
a huge, beaming smile.  
  
"Ranma-chan!" She exclaimed. "I've never seen anything  
so beautiful in my life! The Kata, those forms...everything!  
And you used a sword! Where in the world did you learn to do  
such a thing? Why, I could have you tested at a Kendo dojo  
and have you acknowledged as a Master of Kendo!"  
  
He ducked his head bashfully. He'd never had people  
praising him before. "Aw, shucks. It was nothing!"  
  
Her eyes shimmered in pride. "Could you show it to me  
again? I'd like to see it once more."  
  
"Well...okay."  
  
Once again, he erupted into the complicated motions  
and lost himself in the Kata. His Mother watched approvingly  
at the side. Time lost all meaning, and the hidden window  
started to open again...  
  
"Kami-sama..." Said a low whisper.  
  
Ranma slowed down, frowning. Who said that?  
  
He saw his Father standing beside his beaming Mother, his  
chubby face pale and horrified. Ranma couldn't understand it.  
What had gotten his Father all spooked out?  
  
"Boy...where did you learn that Kata?"  
  
He frowned again. "I didn't. All I did was practice a bit  
for a while then this Idea came to me. So I took out a bokken,  
and improvised a standard unarmed Kata. Or at least, I thought   
I did."  
  
His father came down hurriedly to his side, his face   
still a pasty white. He stood by him, losing some of his  
paleness, to be replaced by utter seriousness.  
  
"Ranma...Son, I want you to promise me something."  
  
The young man was puzzled at his seriousness. It was   
more than he'd ever seen him show for a long time.  
  
"Eh? What's the Matter, Oyaji? You feelin' sick or  
somethin'?"  
  
Genma didn't even bat an eyelash at his remark. He   
continued with his plea.  
  
"Son, If you've never believed me before, if you've   
never obeyed me before, then I want you to do this one thing,  
above all else. Forget everything else I've said to you, But   
heed this!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Ranma, I want you to promise me one thing. Never, ever  
use that Kata or anything similar to it, with or without the   
bokken. I want you to promise me that!"  
  
"What are you talking about, Oyaji!" He retorted hotly.  
"I'm the one who made this Kata, and nobody else is going to  
tell me what to or not to do!"  
  
"Genma..." Nodoka tried to intervene.  
  
"No, No-chan. you do not know the story here." He shook  
his head. "This is not simply about a Kata. But continuing   
to practice it will have dire consequences. My hands are  
tied, But this is for your own good, Boy!"  
  
Ranma's ice-blue eyes darkened, startling both his  
parents at the sight.  
  
"Don't. Ever. Call. Me. A. Boy. Ever."  
  
"Son," Placated his mother, "I'm sure this can all be   
worked out. Why don't we just come to an agreement?"  
  
"I shall only agree to one thing. Ever." He turned his   
back on them. "What I desire, I get. There are no other  
compromises." He walked away slowly. He needed to eat and   
prepare for school.  
  
But before he passed through the wooden doorway,  
they could hear him mutter a phrase.  
  
"...so the past comes to nip our heels, once more..."  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
Kasumi hummed softly to herself as she cleaned one of   
the storage rooms in the Tendo home. She rummaged through the   
assorted things left behind by the Saotome's, reminiscing the  
days when the Duo stayed here as part of their Family. She  
smiled sadly at some of the memories.   
  
Akane did not take their leaving very well. After a   
few months of observing the interaction of Ranma and his  
reluctant Fiancee, Nodoka had declared that The match   
between Ranma and Akane was unsuitable. His Mother had  
noticed how Akane took their engagement for granted (and  
she had to admit, it was wrong of Akane to do so). So, in a   
loud voice, she proclaimed that all Engagements to Ranma  
had become null and void. Their was a loud protest from the   
Tendo and Saotome Patriarchs, but in the end, Nodoka's word   
was law.   
  
The two Fathers sought a desperate gamble, saying that   
if Ranma wanted the Engagements voided, only then would   
they agree. They trusted Ranma's love for Akane would see   
them through in this crisis. This drew a cynical snort  
from the pony-tailed girl  
  
'Love? Akane didn't deserve Ranma's Love. She never  
did, or never should have.' A voice whispered inside.  
  
She shook her head to clear itself of such thoughts.   
It wasn't nice to think such thoughts about her baby sister.  
  
'And that was exactly what went wrong, did it? She  
was the baby of the family. Everything had been given to  
her, never having to struggle to obtain what she wanted. She  
was a spoiled little brat who threw temper tantrums at every   
little thing that didn't go her way. A *child* totally self   
absorbed, who...'  
  
Once again, her mind had deviated from its original  
thoughts. She sighed sadly. She should have known from the very   
beginning that Akane and Ranma were a volatile match. Regrets   
were something she had very little experience in. She tended   
to see good in everything, even when it wasn't there. The   
Saotome's stay in the Tendo residence had changed her views.  
  
It should been her that was engaged to Ranma. She  
is the eldest of the Tendo sisters, after all. Duty demanded   
that she meet Family honor, and follow Giri. It should have   
been her who became Ranma's fiancée. The woman he saved   
every time a prince came to kidnap her, The one he shared   
secret smiles with, the one he would stand by all time...  
  
Alas, It was never meant to be. She had thrown her  
one chance at happiness and the knowledge of a husband's   
love. All because of the fear of the unknown. In retrospect,   
the curse didn't seem so bad. In fact, he had gotten a cure   
months ago, in an excursion to the Musk fortress. Ranma   
asked a favor from Herb, and the Dragon prince was only too   
happy to loan him the Chisiuiton, and repay the debt of   
honor. He had even invited the pig-tailed boy to visit   
sometimes, for a few sparring matches.  
  
There was no time for regret though. She had lost her   
one chance, and now Ranma, by virtue of Nodoka's declaration,  
become fair game. Women practically hounded him, now. Not  
a day passed when at least a dozen girls came to him in   
hopes of setting up a date with him, or even marriage   
proposals. Even Nabiki chased him now. She idly wondered  
if he'd ever had experience with a woman's charms.  
  
'Ojisan's and Otousan's friendship had been severely   
strained by the events, but they had been friends for far to   
long to give up that relationship. At least they're still  
happy...Hello, what's this?'  
  
She was surprised to find a worn leather pack among  
the storage boxes. She was even more surprised to find the  
name 'Ranma' in English letters scrawled along the sides.  
Kasumi knelt down to inspect the long bag closer.  
  
The bag held several lengthy objects, by its shape  
alone. Curious, she opened it to take a peek of what was   
inside.  
  
What she saw shocked, or least surprised, her. Inside   
the Leather pack was a pair of swords, one a traditional   
Japanese katana, And a leather choker with a dark crystal set   
in the middle. All had the Saotome crest engraved on them.   
But the strangest thing was that on the other side of the   
hilts on the Katana, and at the choker's buckle, an engraving   
of a rearing horse was set in stark relief.  
  
'What does this insignia mean? Ranma's personal sigil?'  
She then shrugged off the thought. One thing was sure, though.  
She'd have to return it to Ranma.  
  
She came down into the living room, to see her father  
sitting on the couch, watching TV. She shuffled closer to his   
sprawled form.  
  
"Father, I think the Saotome's may have left something   
behind when they left. I think this bag belongs to Ranma."  
  
"Eh? What's that, Kasumi?"  
  
"I think Ranma may have left something. Look, it has   
his name on it!"  
  
Soun took a moment to glance at the pack held in his   
daughter's hands. "Hmm. It does seem to belong to Ranma."  
An idea suddenly sprung. "Well, now! I have great Idea!"  
  
"Oh?" Kasumi inquired. "What is it, father?"  
  
Soun sat up from the couch. "We could invite the   
Saotome's for Dinner!" He said excitedly. "That way, we could   
return this to him, and then catch up on old times! Why,   
Saotome and I could get back to our shogi..."  
  
She listened to her father ramble for a minute, then she  
interrupted. "That's very nice, Father. Now, why don't I go   
to the Kitchen to prepare the ingredients for tonight's  
dinner."  
  
Soun nodded absently. "Yes, yes. I have to go and dust   
that old shogi board of ours, then set the..."  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Sunday morning. The Sun shone brightly above,   
framing a light blue sky. Children played freely, and cheers  
filled the air. In all respects, it was a beautiful day, just  
right to spend the time with your loved ones. One family,  
however, did not share sentiments of the populace.  
  
The Saotome's, Genma and Nodoka, sat in the living  
room facing each other. The Saotome family blade lay in  
between them. Both held unreadable faces, devoid of any sort  
of emotion. The couple had yet to say a word for two hours.  
  
"Genma."  
  
"Hai, anata?"  
  
"Tell me what was that about, Husband. Why did you tell  
our Son to desist in such an exercise? Why would you be so   
adamant about so little a thing?" She drew a deep breath.  
  
"And the...way my Son acted this day. I had not heard   
him speak so formally before. His every actuation, every  
facial tic, it was different. What has befallen him?"  
  
Genma sat stonily, face set. He neither spoke nor  
flinched from his wife's tone, head still bowed.  
  
"Tell me!" She couldn't restrain herself. "Tell me the   
truth, Genma! Did something happen before, that made him act   
like this? Does it have something to do with who he is?"  
  
Like a viper, his head snapped up. His eyes burned with   
an inner flame, in anger. Nodoka's heart skipped a beat. Those  
eyes...  
  
It was the fire she used to see before they had been  
married, when Genma was still in his novitiate with Happosai.  
The very same thing that drew her to him in the first place.  
His eyes now held fiery rage, and she was glad that rage   
wasn't directed at her.  
  
"It has EVERYTHING to do with WHO, or WHAT he is!" Genma  
thundered. His aura now flared wildly, the reflection of the  
raging emotions he felt within. Even Nodoka's iron will could  
not help but shrink back at the awesome anger.  
  
Finally, the display died down, replaced with a portly  
martial-artist who sat wearily in the floor. He seemed to   
heave a great sigh, and started to elucidate his wife on what  
she should never have asked.  
  
"No-chan. I love you more than life itself." He began.   
"But there are certain things I swore I would never reveal, for   
the sake of my Family. Even if it meant my alienation, then I   
will still do so in an instant. I have made many mistakes, this   
time, I pray it will not cost Ranma's soul."  
  
Tears ran down Her face. What could be so horrible that   
her own, admittedly, less than honest husband would deem the   
secret more important than his own beloved wife? Was it   
because of Ranma?  
  
"Anata," Her tears had not stopped. "Will this, this  
mistake cause harm to come to my Son?"  
  
Genma deflated. The sight of his beloved wife crying  
was the last thing he wanted to see. "No, No-chan. Hopefully,  
it will not. But Ranma must face this on his own. It is his  
battle to fight, we can only stand by and watch as spectators.  
But I swear to you, on the Family Katana, that no harm will   
ever come to you or him."   
  
The Fire returned full-force. "Not while I still hold  
the slightest bit of breath in me."  
  
[Rriiinngg! Rriinngg! Riinngg...]  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
For once in her three-hundred years of existence, Cologne  
hoped she would make a big mistake.  
  
Her errant Son-in-law still resisted Shampoo's charms,   
and sought to defy Amazon Law. Now matter how much she had  
pushed or pulled, Ranma would never willingly come into   
Shampoo's arms. He grew to wary of the tricks she had pulled  
(and still did). At this rate, he would never be part of the  
tribe.  
  
Well, not if SHE can help it.  
  
During her stay in the quaint little Japanese town   
called Nerima, she had been exceedingly vexed and confounded  
by the pig-tailed martial artist known as Saotome Ranma. While  
she did not think him particularly unlucky, the boy attracted  
chaos the same way rotten food attracted flies. Though she had  
to admit, Ranma was one of, if not, the beautifully visaged  
youth she ever saw, it was hardly reason for countless of   
females to throw and devote themselves at him. It simply   
boggled the mind how women were drawn to him.  
  
And there was his prowess. If she knew a better fighter   
at his age and generation, she did not know him. The boy  
absorbed the knowledge of fighting techniques like a sponge,  
literally soaking up all that he had seen and witnessed,  
even if it happened only once. There was simply no end to   
his constant improvement.   
  
But there was one thing strange about how he fought.  
Each time, unless the foe was blatantly weak in terms of   
Nerimian fighting ability, or grossly experienced like   
herself, Ranma won always only with a slight margin. It   
was as if he fought only with enough force to defeat and  
gain a challenger's techniques.  
  
And his fighting style. From what she saw, the boy's  
style was chaotic and unrefined, a mark of the Anything-  
Goes style. The said style concentrated on the used of   
Passions and emotions, incorporating other schools in the  
mix. It described how her Son-in-law fought, to a tee.  
  
Yet he had learned the Hiryu Shoten Ha. It was   
something she had only tried to show to Ranma, to show the   
futility of learning one of the Amazon's secret techniques. A   
technique that only three of the best Joketsozuko elders,   
including herself, had mastered. The technique required a level   
of self-control, ki mastery, and incredible restraint to   
subvert the flux of emotions usually running throughout one's   
self. Erasing all feelings, to access the raw ki that fueled  
the Tornado's immense power. The fastest she had seen anyone  
master the technique was a month, set by herself. By all   
calculations, his own style and mentality would have rendered   
it useless.  
  
But Ranma mastered it in three days.  
  
Now that was when she knew that something was very,  
very wrong about him.  
  
So she spent the time seeing how Ranma would react to   
events. Cologne saw the defeat of countless of challengers.  
From Ryouga, Mousse, Taro, Herb, and finally, The Phoenix  
god Saffron. She didn't even want to think of what happened  
in Jusendo. All had fallen before him.  
  
A causal glance would reveal that Ranma was an immature,  
brash, cocky, generally average teenager. If you could discount   
the incredible abilities he had at his disposal. But always,  
events would hint that all was not what it seemed with the  
pig-tailed boy. Out of all of those that she had met, she could   
not predict how he would react to situations. This alone made  
him an adversary worthy of her attention.  
  
Which was why she hesitated in proceeding with the plan  
that was sure to succeed. This WAS Nerima after all. What   
happened rarely in other places was commonplace here,   
especially when it concerned a certain blue-eyed Martial  
Artist.  
  
She shook her head. Of course she would succeed. No mere  
male would ever thwart the Joketsozuko, at least not for long.  
Marriage to Shampoo wasn't really what she had in mind. Ranma  
would be the perfect breeding stock, to aid in the Amazon's  
return to power. He will come to the Tribe, even if She had  
to force him at sword point.  
  
"Hibachan have Guests!" Came Shampoo's singsong voice  
from below.  
  
Grabbing on her staff, she went down the stairs of the   
Nekohanten to greet the Arrivals.  
  
She saw Shampoo standing besides the stairs, waiting   
patiently for her descent. On a table sat five huge men,  
who cast dark shadows around the deserted Cafe. Each of the  
mountains of flesh stood up when she appeared.  
  
"Ahh. So you have come. Just right on schedule."  
  
The apparent leader of the men stepped in front, to  
address the Amazon Matriarch.  
  
"Will we have our chance? To destroy him?"  
  
Cologne's face twisted into a grotesque mask, in a  
parody of a smile.  
  
"Yes. You will have the chance to crush him. Then we   
shall take him back with us to China, where he will live as  
a slave and stud stallion to the women of our tribe." She  
laughed at her own joke.  
  
The Man frowned. "Will we not kill him?"  
  
"Of course not." She snorted. "There are far worse ways   
to humiliate a man. At least in this way, he knows who were the   
instrument of his downfall. Be assured, though, that we will   
spread the tale of his Conquerors."  
  
"That is most...delightful. We accept." He smiled   
cruelly. With a blur of movement, all five men disappeared,  
leaving only a cluster of gently falling sakura blossoms.  
  
"Hibachan, those too too scary men won't hurt Airen,  
will they?"  
  
"Do not fret, child." She assured the purple haired   
girl. "When the time comes, Ranma will be yours."  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
"What did the Matriarch say?"  
  
"My Lord, the Woman plans to enslave him and turn him  
into breeding stock for the Joketsozuko. After we crush him,   
of course."  
  
Laughter.  
  
"What irony. He who was once sought after by women will  
soon be the their plaything. After all the women that had shared   
his bed, this fate seems...fitting. What about his prowess,  
then."  
  
"He has become weak, my Lord. Where strength once flowed,  
It has been replaced by weaknesses. Even only one of us could  
defeat him. He is doomed."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He always had something under his   
sleeve. Therefore, I will send Jeremiah and Job with you. They   
will accompany your group to provide support, should anything  
go astray."  
  
"My Lord! I must admit that for one of his reputation,  
extreme measures must be made. But to send two of your   
Lieutenants? He is only a boy, far too young..."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I beg your Forgiveness, my Lord. I didn't mean to presume  
to..."  
  
"Enough! I have said what need to be said. You now know  
what to do. Go, and prepare for the plan."  
  
"Hai!"  
  
Silence. One that stretches for a few minutes.  
  
"Ah. Welcome, my daughter. So, tell me what is thy hearts   
desire?"  
  
"You know that I want only one thing. The men you sent,  
they will fail."  
  
"Perhaps, perhaps not. If he does return to who he once  
was, then maybe, just maybe, he is good enough to become one  
of the Enlightened. Then, We can gain the control of the   
Shadows. The world will soon learn to fear us."  
  
"In that case, I shall prepare my bedchambers. When  
HE comes back, my sheets shall become warm once again."  
  
Disapproval.  
  
"Are our Servants so unreliable in your eyes, Daughter?  
Do you doubt the strength they possess?"  
  
Laughter.  
  
"Of course not. I trust their strength and abilities.   
But I trust HIS power more."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Mayhap, With HIM in our Ranks, we shall gain that which  
we most covet, hhmm?  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Cologne rummaged through the seemingly endless piles of  
assorted bric-a-brac, Shampoo standing beside her. A few items   
were haphazardly thrown away in her haste. She had to prepare   
everything just right. It just wouldn't do for her to be late   
for her own machinations.  
  
"No...Not this...Can it be...? Maybe...this probably...  
Could a gem...the cracked...No..."  
  
She continued her search until she saw what she wanted.  
  
"Ah Hah! I found it!"  
  
Shampoo bounced up and down with joy. "Aiyah! Grandmamma  
find Amazon secret treasure!"  
  
Cologne gave the girl a small smile. "Yes child. This  
artifact will be the instrument of our success! Soon, Ranma  
shall be brought into the tribe!"  
  
"Aiyah! Shampoo sooo happy!"  
  
Cologne laughed, and placed the said artifact on the   
table, to rest above a special stand made for such a purpose.  
  
Shampoo leaned nearer to stare at it. "Great grandmamma,  
What it called?" She asked, puzzled.  
  
"This, my child," She tried to suppress a wicked grin,  
"Are the Gems of Eternity."  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A pair of men shadowed   
the walking lady in front them, a boy with a shinai at her side.  
The taller of the two men had spiky hair and wore a white dogi   
with the kanji for 'Bad' emblazoned at the back, while the   
shorter had flame-red hair tied in a loose ponytail and wore  
a white Hakama with a red Haori. The redhead had a suspicious  
looking katana at his side, but one look at his face assured  
most passerby's of his benevolent personality.  
  
Suddenly, the red-haired swordsman stiffened, and stopped  
stock-still. This drew the attention of the spiky-haired boy  
with the yellow hakama. He frowned at him.  
  
"Oi! What's wrong with you? You coming down with   
something?"   
  
"Nothing, nothing, Yahiko. It was just that, for a moment,  
I felt something strange. A...foreboding. Of what, I don't  
know." He shook his head in puzzlement.  
  
"Yo, Kenshin, you're freaking me out. Why don't we just  
go to the Fox lady's clinic, and have her fix you something."  
  
At this time, the girl had noticed their pause, and  
the resulting conversation. She drew her own two cents in.  
  
"Maybe you're tired, Kenshin. After all, you did do a  
lot of laundry this morning. Perhaps we should hurry back  
home and fix you a nice cup of tea." She did NOT want  
Megumi to get her claws on Kenshin again.  
  
Kenshin smiled in response. "Thank you, Kaoro-dono. But  
it was just a momentary relapse in my senses. I don't really  
think its anything serious."  
  
"You sure?" She prodded.  
  
"Very sure. Come on, the tofu's already prepared, but I  
have to prepare the Bonito for the Dashi. We can't our dinner  
coming in late now, can we?"  
  
Instantly, the other two males perked up at the   
swordsman's words. Now, hyped up and ready to go, they could  
barely contain themselves.  
  
"What are you waiting for, then," Cried Sanosuke. "Let's  
hurry back!" Then he cheered along with Yahiko.  
  
"Idiots..." Kaoru muttered.  
  
Kenshin smiled at the antics of his friends. They were  
such big kids. Kaoru saw that smile, and smiled in return.  
  
"They never change, do they?"  
  
"Nope. And I hope that they never do."  
  
But as Kaoru turned away to face the road once more, he  
could not help but reminisce about the feeling that struck  
him earlier. It had a sense of...familiarity. As if he had   
felt that particular emotion before-from himself. This could  
have something to do with his past, he surmised.   
  
Kenshin did not like to be kept in the dark. The lack of  
Information could easily hurt those closest to him. He'd have   
to keep one eye peeled open all the time.  
  
'But I do know one thing,' Of this, he was certain.   
'things are soon going to be very 'interesting'...'  
  
  
  
  
====*====*=====  
  
  
  
NOTES :  
  
  
I'm trying to to create a different environment here,  
dissimilar to the Canon series. I based it in the idea that  
some things are never that simple with the Cursed Martial  
artist. What if, just what if, Things are not always as they  
seemed? And if the past carried greater weight than most of  
them ever imagined?  
  
The Kenshin part happens in the past, just so you know.   
This particular story diverges after the affair with Utaro and   
the medicine, and the Sanada ninjas. I hope I didn't botch   
this work too much.  
  
Another thing. I'm still in sore need of fanfic Ideas, AND   
a Title for my first work, the DUAL! xover (MAYDAY!MAYDAY!).   
For all the good Samaritans out there, this is my SOS. Help...the   
humble Kijin(me!) needs C&C..  
  
Send all C&C to carlopim@yahoo.com . Flames will be used  
to fuel the Steam locomotive I keep in my backyard.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 2

A Ranma 0.5 fanfiction  
  
  
The Three-fold God  
  
  
By Kijin  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Past :  
  
  
Shadows. So many shadows.  
  
The sun slept once again, bowing down to his sister, the   
Moon. Dusk spread her cold embrace on the populace. Where the   
city lay, now a sea of blinking neon lights appeared. They   
shone brightly through the dark night sky, perhaps to spite it.   
But the artificial brilliance of halogen light bulbs could never   
fully extinguish what lay behind each darkened alley, each   
seamy room. The shadows would always be part of the city, and   
part of life.  
  
Part of _my_ life.  
  
Must it always be so?  
  
I have been part of the shadows for far too long. I feel  
tremors of anxiety whenever the comforting blanket of the night  
fails to graze me. I can never resist its allure, no matter   
how I try. To some, the shadows are the enemy. To be feared.  
To be loathed. To be despised. To be destroyed.  
  
But how can one destroy The Dark?  
  
Without Fear, there can be no Courage. Without earth,   
there can be no sky. Heaven, without a hell. Joy, sadness.  
God, the Devil. Dusk, for the Dawn. Hope, and Despair.  
  
Light. The Shadows.  
  
Humanity is defined by opposites. In my admittedly short   
  
life, I have found this to true. Existence is given shape by  
by conflicts, that which give rise to different schools of thought.  
Why would people deny this adage, this basic tenet of survival?  
Have we become such hypocrites that we divert our attention  
from what truly holds much importance?   
  
They have left the true enlightenment of knowledge in   
the blessed decay of ignorance. The Fools. My head turns from   
side to side. As I watch the various night creatures stalk   
across the streets of the City, I cannot help but sigh at their   
insistence in continuing this...farce. A facade of   
obliviousness to the point of being criminal.  
  
Ignorant ones, would you ignore that which I see? Or   
did rather, choose not to see. Have you ever wondered if your   
day is always filled with Happy faces, and Shining smiles?   
What about us, those who live in the shadows? Those who _are_   
the shadows. Would you ignore us then, when our duty tells   
us to visit you?  
  
No. I cannot let myself become this petty. No sympathy  
is needed for one such as I, nor do I need to. Let the babes  
play in the mud. Let them be the Children of the Sun. I shall,  
and always remain, Child of the shadows.   
  
Tainted, you say? I am not, far from it, in fact. What   
you see as evil is but a facet of side your kind despises. You   
see only one side to the coin. Do you not know that NOTHING has   
a single dimension? Before it is too late, use the sight that   
our pagan gods have given us! Use the...  
  
Ahh. I laugh at myself at this unexpected turn in my  
so-called introspection. Truly, I have changed. Or perhaps  
regaining that which I...lost some time ago. Perhaps I am not   
so indifferent to the lure of the light, as I believed. Yes,  
perhaps I even envy your ignorance. Hopeless it might be.   
  
Yes. Live and laugh. Eat and drink, and breath. Children  
of the Sun, cavort and sate yourself in midst of your Bacchanals.  
The balance would still be maintained. Children of the light.  
But never forget your siblings. We are your opposites. Yet we  
deserve the right for our existence, as well. We are Siblings,  
you and I.  
  
I smile at the sights below me, and turn back to the  
dark recesses of the suite, the highest available. It is our   
turn now. Our turn to play in the sandbox of conflicts.   
  
The shadows have come. THE Shadow has come.   
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
The swordsman stood atop the cliff, poised in a majestic   
Chudan-no-kamae stance. The katana was held in two hands, tip   
angled just above the eyebrows. His eyes were closed, focused   
on something that only he could see. Silence ruled the air, the   
rush of the waterfall providing a background for the swordsman's   
concentration. He remained at that pose for minutes, waiting for   
the right moment to strike.  
  
His eyes snapped. With a loud Kiai, he swung down in a   
powerful stroke, the air cleft by the strike.  
  
Then, silence reigned once more. To be broken only by  
the arrival of another hakama-clad warrior. The new arrival  
was older, and carried a samurai's traditional weapons, the   
Daisho. The resemblance between the two was unmistakable.   
  
"How goes your training, nephew?"  
  
The younger of the two relaxed from his stance, and  
turned to face the other swordsman.  
  
"Very well, Uncle. Thank you for your concern."  
  
He nodded at his answer. "Good. You have truly become  
a powerful practitioner of the Kuno school of Kenjutsu. Soon,  
you shall inherit the Title of Grandmaster of our school."  
  
"Yes...the Grandmaster..."  
  
"Was it really necessary to skip school, though? You   
might have come back few times, but only to contact this...  
Nabiki character. A Samurai must be well-educated as well as  
chivalrous. It would not do for a Kuno to be ignorant,   
Tatewaki."  
  
The younger Kuno stared at his uncle with blazing eyes.  
"I must train to humble the foul Saotome!" He raged. "He has   
been a thorn at my side for far too long! Such insults must be  
avenged! My sword demands it!"  
  
The man sighed for what seemed the hundredth time for   
the day. He knew about his nephew's obsession, blaming this to  
his rather...temperamental...sensibilities. He would turn a  
little thing into a monstrous fiasco by a sudden flight of   
fancy.  
  
'Must have come from his father's side.' He thought,  
ignoring Tatewaki for a moment.  
  
But family was family. If his errant nephew wanted to   
study the higher forms of the Nine-skills School, who was he  
to deny him? All he could do was hope for the best.  
  
"Have you mastered all written on the scrolls?"  
  
"Of course! The techniques written should most useful for  
vanquishing the Foul Saotome. This time, he will not survive  
our encounter!"  
  
"Tatewaki," The elder Kuno tried to reason with slightly  
deranged young man, "Is it really necessary for the boy to die?  
Duels of Honor are no longer tolerated in this era, you know?  
You could end up locked inside a cell. And the family's honor  
will be strained." He hardened his gaze. "I will not have the  
Kuno name dishonored, Tatewaki."  
  
Tatewaki flinched back. He wasn't frightened by his   
uncle, of course not! "Of c...course, Uncle. The Peasant's  
life is too inconsequential to risk a sentence from the plebeian   
courts..." He wasmerely indulging an aging man's request.  
  
His glare had not fallen off. "See that he...lives,   
Tatewaki. And to make sure there aren't any...accidents, I   
shall accompany you in this endeavor."  
  
"Uncle, this is most unnecessary! I assure you that  
Saotome shall live through this encounter! You have my word  
on it!"  
  
"Of course you do. But I also want to see this...Saotome  
boy for myself." He replied. "You are very good at Kenjutsu,  
nephew. So good, that I think there are very few in Japan,   
mayhap in the world, that can match your Swordsmanship. That is  
why I am puzzled that a boy younger than you can actually   
defeat you bare handed. That's speaks of great Skill."  
  
Curiosity was not the only reason he would watch the duel,  
though. The name, Saotome, sounded very...familiar. He belonged  
to the highest of social classes in Japan. The affairs of the  
state, including the Emperor's, were well-known to him. If he  
remembered correctly, there was some mention about a new agent  
in the ranks, one under the personal command of the Emperor,  
himself...  
  
"Skill?" Tatewaki snorted. "Ha! Base trickery, I say! He  
resorts to sorcery most foul when it is apparent that I, the  
Great Kuno Tatewaki, would rise supreme!" Thunder echoed in   
the background.  
  
The man narrowed his eyes. "You have too much pride,  
Tatewaki. That will be your downfall, as with all warriors.  
Have your manservant pack your bags. We shall be leaving  
tomorrow. 7 weeks of training should be enough."  
  
As the Middle-aged man walked away, Kuno Tatewaki   
plotted his nemesis's defeat.  
  
'Soon, Saotome. I have finally acquired the means for  
your downfall. You shall be humbled, and laid low, as I show   
the true power of the Kuno Kenjutsu Ryu!'  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
"An excellent meal, Kasumi! Your cooking never ceases to   
lose its appeal!"  
  
"T-thank you Ranma. It means a lot, coming from you."  
  
One girl, however, did not take this well.  
  
"You pervert! Stop hitting on my sister!" Guess who that   
was.  
  
"Unfortunately," Muttered Nabiki.  
  
"Look, why don't you get off my case already!"  
  
"Off your case?! Is that what you think I'm doing?"  
  
"What else would you call it? Oh, I know : Nagging!"  
  
"Why you!"  
  
Before things could go downhill, Kasumi halted the spat  
with a few words. "Please, not in front of the dinner table!"  
  
Ranma and Akane turned away shamefacedly. "Sorry, Kasumi.  
I'll try not to...aggravate Akane again."  
  
"Hmmph!" Akane just snorted.  
  
Kasumi smiled sunnily. "That's all right Ranma. I'm sure  
you didn't mean it."  
  
Ranma smiled in return, and Akane once again glared   
angrily at the pig-tailed boy.  
  
"So, Ranma-kun," Nabiki ventured. "How have you been,  
lately?"  
  
Ranma glanced warily at the brown-haired girl. Experience  
had been a hard teacher. "Not much, really. Ryouga's been lost   
for two months, Mousse disappeared somewhere, so did Kuno. Last  
I heard, the 'Blue thunder' went to his uncle's home in the  
mountains to do some training. Don't know where, though."  
  
Nabiki shook her head. "I didn't mean that. I was talking   
about your...social status. Chosen the lucky girl yet?"  
  
Ranma shook his head. "Not really. Relationships are too  
much of a hassle, anyway. Girls bring nothing but trouble."  
He chuckled.  
  
"Oh really, Ranma-kun?" She smirked lopsidedly. "Your   
opinion seems a bit biased to me. Girls do _not_ want to  
bring you trouble. They do, however, want other things,  
things only you can provide."  
  
He leaned back on his heels. "I said girls, Nabiki. I  
didn't say anything about _Women_. "  
  
"Oh really?" 'Perhaps you aren't so easy to crack,   
Ranma.' "Are you implying that you want not a girl, but a   
_Woman_? And how would you define one, Ranma-kun?"  
  
Ranma smiled, leaning forward across the table, directly  
in front of Nabiki. His expression became sultry, if the word  
could ever be used to describe a man. "Wouldn't you like to  
know..."  
  
"Oohh, somebody learned how to be subtle!" Nabiki laughed  
delightedly. When did Ranma learn how flirt?  
  
Soun and Genma merely went about their shogi, happy that   
their children still got along. Nodoka sighed in pride, at the  
obvious (or perhaps imaginary?) skill her son had at seduction.  
Kasumi gazed longingly at the pig-tailed boy-no, man- and   
wished she could play as well as Nabiki could with words. Akane,  
on the other hand, turned redder and redder at the pervert's  
audacity.  
  
"Really, Ranma. What would you consider an ideal woman?  
What traits set her from the standard schoolgirl, pray tell."  
  
"Well, for one thing, a woman doesn't worry about   
appearance, because she _knows_ she is desirable. The vagaries  
that plague a girl fall on the wayside for her."  
  
Unnoticed by anyone, Kasumi lowers her eyes to the floor.  
But Nabiki plows through, drawing a bit closer.  
  
"And?"  
  
"A woman trusts a man, even if it is only for a day. This  
Freudian theory of trust and companionship holds true, after all.  
Even in the most platonic of agreements, trust is an inherent  
commodity most important in all compromises."  
  
He drew closer to Nabiki until their faces were only a   
few inches apart. "But most important of all," He whispered   
softly, though not so low, as he could be heard by all, "A   
woman knows how to please a man. In oh-sooo-many delightful   
ways." He licked his lips suggestively.  
  
Nabiki shivered in response. Was it getting hot in here?  
  
"Perhaps you should...should hold that thought, Ranma. Who  
knows, maybe someone might indulge you soon." she murmured .  
  
"Are you trying to say something, Nabiki-chan?" he   
breathed. Nabiki was nearly rendered insensate. "Perhaps...to   
volunteer?" He laughed richly, a deep, baritone rumbling in   
his chest. "I assure you, if you do, I'll make it worth your   
while."  
  
Everyone froze. Akane nearly exploding in anger, Nabiki   
by her libido, and Kasumi with no small longing, and a bit of   
embarrassment. Nodoka glowed with pride at her manly son. She   
was merely content to observe the interaction of the younger   
generation.  
  
Thankfully, the lull in the conversation was broken when   
Soun interrupted.   
  
"By the way, Ranma, I think I found some of the things   
you left when you moved." he announced. "We found some bags   
that had your name on it. Kasumi, please get the things you   
found earlier."  
  
"Yes father." Kasumi climbed up the stairs to retrieve the  
said items.  
  
"Things?" Ranma was puzzled. As far as he knew, what   
meager possessions he had was already at the Saotome residence.   
He could have sworn that everything were accounted for.  
  
"Hah! Check, Tendo!" Genma crowed, having rearranged the   
pieces when Soun was distracted.  
  
"Eh?" Soun looked back at the board. "Ah. I couldn't see  
that reversal. A fine match, Saotome."  
  
Ranma turned to Nabiki. Akane was incensed at this insult.  
Imagine, the perverted baka's ignoring me! Why, most boys   
would kill for the chance to even speak with her!  
  
"Did know what Tendo-san was talking about, Nabiki?"  
  
Nabiki shook her head. "Beats me."  
  
"But I could have sworn that I brought everything with  
me when we moved out. What could I have possibly left behind?"  
  
"Hmmpph! I bet he probably left some nudie pictures!   
You Probably hid them somewhere where we couldn't find,   
hentai!" Akane declared, hoping for a reaction.  
  
Ranma continued to ignore her.  
  
"Perhaps a change of clothes? Or maybe some martial arts  
paraphernalia, maybe?" Nabiki suggested. "After all, you never   
were the most astute of people, Ranma-kun. You could have   
forgotten something."  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "Forget?" he answered matter-of-   
factly. "I have a very good Memory, Nabiki."  
  
Her own eyebrows rose at this deadpan delivery. "Awfully  
sure about yourself, aren't you?"  
  
"Is there any reason I shouldn't be?" this brought on a  
series of chuckles around the table. All except for one.  
  
"Hey! Stop ignoring me, you..."  
  
Ranma suddenly whipped towards her. His eyes held utter   
seriousness, brooking no nonsense. Akane found out that she  
could not tear her eyes away from his own.  
  
"And then what, Akane? Have you spitting like a viper  
for not agreeing with you? Or blowing up for some imagined  
insult to your glorious perfection?" he all but glared at the  
girl.  
  
He continued with his tirade, this time softly. "You   
would have blown up for every little thing I said, Akane. I   
can't hold even a decent conversation with you anymore. You   
argue and contradict every little thing I say. Do you have to   
be angry all the time, Akane?"  
  
The short-haired girl was a bit speechless. She never   
thought Ranma would talk _somewhat_ logically in response. How  
much had he changed since he left the Tendo household?   
  
Ranma sighed. "I'm not trying to be insulting, Akane, even   
if I seemed a bit rude for not paying you any attention. But I'd  
rather not have this gathering turn ugly because the two of us  
couldn't agree on a few things. Please understand."  
  
Contrary to her name, Akane managed to restrain her   
considerable temper in check. She didn't like to admit it, but  
the baka was right. 'This time', she conceded. So he made a  
point. That didn't mean she had to like it, of course.  
  
"Wow, I'm impressed, sis! I didn't think I've ever seen  
you reign yourself that quick. It seems like you've learned  
_some_ things."  
  
"Shut up, Nabiki." she mumbled.  
  
Everyone in the room turns around to the sound of footsteps.  
It was Kasumi, coming down to bring a few bundles in her slim   
arms. The things didn't look heavy, but they had the distinct   
impression that they weren't all that light.  
  
"Finally, you're here, Sis! So, what are they?" Nabiki  
could barely contain herself.  
  
Kasumi handed out the parcels to the pig-tailed boy.   
"Here you go Ranma-"  
  
"Huh? This is it? What the heck..."  
  
"-kun. I never knew you owned a few swords, and expensive  
ones, if I'm to judge."  
  
'Expensive?' Nabiki had perked up at the magic words.   
'Since when did Ranma own such things? And swords?'  
  
"Oh, great! I never thought you'd sink so low. But it   
seems you're going to turn into another Kuno!" Akane sniffed.  
  
Nodoka got curious. Katanas? Her son had one? Why?  
  
"Ranma-chan, where did you get that? Was it given to   
you?" If it was, he'd have to send it back. After all, he was   
supposed to inherent the Saotome Family Blade.  
  
As their eyes fell on him, they showed different amounts   
of surprise. Ranma sat on his heels, bowed down as if praying.  
His hands carried the two cloth-wrapped, cylindrical objects,  
cradling them gently. He treated each with the gentlest of   
reverence. In fact, his gesture would not have been totally  
inappropriate in holding a newborn baby.  
  
"Ranma-kun? Are...you...?" Kasumi inquired tentatively.  
  
Ranma kept on cradling the weapons. His eyes were closed,  
and a suspicious moisture collected at the corners of his   
lashes. What was going on here?  
  
"Ranma?" even Akane was unnerved. She had never, not even   
once, had she seen Ranma in this position. He'd always been   
fiercely introverted, hiding all forms of external emotions from  
the public eye. He usually regarded such displays as unmanly   
before, so why now? Granted, it wasn't much, but still...  
  
Nabiki decided to attempt to rouse him from his present  
state. "Hey, Saotome. You in there?" she shook him a little,  
just a bit, not wanting to startle him.  
  
Slowly, Ranma raised his head, just enough to conceal his  
eyes beneath his bangs. He sighed deeply, as if in deep thought.  
He remained silent for a few moments, before answering their  
unspoken question.  
  
"I...remember these. I thought I would have forgotten  
by now. But little things, smidgens of...they just don't let   
themselves fade away..."  
  
  
"Huh?" came the collective response.  
  
"You don't understand? Well, it's not really important."  
He brightened, losing interest in the weapons. He lay them at   
his side. "Ehh, what now?"  
  
"What isn't important, Ranma? Come on, don't leave us  
in the dark, here." Nabiki spouted.  
  
Nodoka had a nasty suspicion, but preferred to keep   
her silence.   
  
"So, you're playing with swords now, Ranma? Since when  
did you start carrying one? And by the looks of it, you have  
been, for a long time." Akane voiced her own opinion.  
  
"For sometime. Can't quite remember, though." Ranma  
muttered in a low, smooth voice. A tone they'd never heard  
him adopt. "Must have been a few years ago."  
  
"Can I see it, then? The sword, I mean." Kasumi asked.  
  
Ranma whipped up his head in surprise. Kasumi? The   
others had similar thoughts. Since when had she been so   
interested in swords?  
  
Kasumi blushed rosily and ducked her head. "Uhm, I'm  
just a bit curious, that's all. They don't feel like the   
regular Japanese Katana. They're a bit heavier, for one thing."  
  
They didn't notice the two old coots stop their game, to  
listen at their conversation. What was puzzling, though, was   
the fact that Genma stared with an unblinking gaze, Not even  
paying attention to Soun absently shifting the pieces around.  
  
Wordlessly, Ranma held out one of the swords to her,  
keeping the other hidden behind his back. Kasumi gingerly took  
the object out of his hand, idly caressing his digits almost  
absently. Nobody noticed, but Ranma did. Beet-red, he whipped  
his hand back quickly, hoping that no one had seen _that_.   
But that was strange. Why would he be acting so jumpy around  
Kasumi?  
  
Kasumi held the sword a foot away from her, firmly   
gripping the handle in her right hand. She frowned a bit at  
the weight, wondering why it felt like so. Putting it off  
for a moment, she slowly unsheathed the blade, left hand  
behind the ornate horse carving. Light glinted off the  
silvery metal blade, revealing-  
  
"No edge?!" Akane had jumped out of her seat, boggling  
at the sight. The rest showed similar signs of confusion  
and disbelief.  
  
If anything, Genma's expression turned a bit darker.  
  
Ranma laughed a bit nervously. "Ha ha ha, I didn't   
think anyone would notice..." He trailed off, realizing how   
stupid that sounded.  
  
Nodoka examined the blade herself, paying attention to   
the most minute details. "The weapon is quite well-made, very  
well crafted, in fact. Perfect balance, wrong weight though.  
It doesn't seem unfinished, but deliberately created this way.  
Almost like a bokken, with its rounded edge, but thinner."  
  
She turned to her son. "Tell me, Son. Why carry around  
something like this, when you already have the Family's  
Honor Blade?" She wanted to tease him. He was so cute when   
he was flustered, reminding her of times long gone, back   
when he was just a toddler.  
  
Shockingly, his grey-blue eyes darkened to a nearly  
purple shade, as if absorbing the light from the ceiling   
lamps. An aura of menace could be felt around him. The room   
froze in an enigmatic silence, and all could not find the   
strength to break it. Nobody uttered a word. All waited for   
an answer that might not come. And that prediction just might   
come true, by the looks of things. Ranma chose to keep his   
counsel, his eyes unfocused. Turned inwards to view   
recalcitrant memories, perhaps.  
  
This did not bode well. Nodoka shivered, unknowingly  
mirroring Genma. There wasn't any admonishment present in   
her voice, but her son acted as if scolded. What started as   
a congenial inquiry pertaining to her son's quirks degenerated   
into a macabre parody. At least, that's how it seemed to the   
concerned mother.   
  
Nodoka cursed herself for being too inquisitive. Not that   
anyone could blame her. She was only concerned for Ranma's   
well-being. But sometimes, her protectiveness went too far. As   
it did tonight. It seemed like there was no hope of salvaging  
this affair.  
  
Nabiki wasn't stupid, and the same went for Kasumi.   
Ranma rarely showed anything other absent-minded cheerfulness   
and good-natured arrogance. Due to his forgiving nature, it   
was easy to underestimate his congeniality as foolishness.   
Challengers could knock at their door, every Dick and Tom could   
attempt to beat the crap out of everyone's favorite pig-tailed   
martial artist, and still Ranma considered such occurrences as   
normal as breathing. It wasn't easy to get a rise out of   
anything resembling seriousness from the former aquatransexual.   
But nearly everyone knew when to back down from him, even   
Ryoga and Cologne. When asked why they vacillate, they only   
said one word.  
  
"Jusendo."  
  
Even Soun and Akane knew when hold back. His ability to   
take abuse was legendary-but so was ability to dish them out.   
Both of them knew Ranma had been partly responsible for tearing  
apart Mount Horaisan, in a battle with Herb. For someone to   
carry such power...   
  
You could only kick a sleeping dragon a couple of times  
...Before it woke up and swatted the annoying bug that dared   
disturb its slumber, into so much paste.  
  
Surprisingly, it was Genma who saved the day. "Hey, I  
remember! Soun, you said Kasumi baked an entire batch of   
chocolate-chip cookies? I can't wait to take a bite out of   
them!" He rubbed his hands gleefully.  
  
"Ehh?" Ranma glanced up with a slightly confused   
expression. "Oh right, I remember! Your dishes are always a   
delight to taste! Come on, let's get some!!" He brightened  
a bit, losing the hardness in his eyes.  
  
He was a bit surprised when no one commented on his   
appetite. Usually, mentioning his desire for Kasumi's cooking  
was enough to set off a round of remarks about the 'Bottomless  
Pit' he called a stomach, basically Nabiki wryly answering,   
and Akane responding with her Mallet.  
  
'Must a record or somthing.' he thought.  
  
Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, except for the Fathers.  
Disaster had been averted by the timely intervention of Genma's  
incorrigible gluttony. Who ever knew his stomach could save the   
day?   
  
'Once again, another round went to Saotome's.' thought   
Nabiki.  
  
As the group trooped towards the engawa for enjoy the cool  
night and Kasumi's cookies, Nabiki could not help but notice  
Genma's glance at his Son. It had anything but greed in it.   
Instead, his expression had been stony. Calculating, even. She  
hit upon a startling revelation. It had not been an idle remark  
on his part, but a deliberate attempt to defuse the situation.  
By the looks of things, a situation he had seen before, and had  
not like in the very least.  
  
Nabiki did not like thing she could not figure out.   
Something was obviously going on with the Saotome's, Father  
and Son, at least. Nodoka could be ignorant of the factors,  
and was the likely possibility. It was Ranma who was the enigma.  
  
As they filed out one by one, everybody noticed that the   
pig-tailed boy had not let go of packages. If anything, he   
clutched them a bit tighter than before. But he gave no   
indication that he even knew their presence, swinging them   
around his back with practiced ease. The whole effect was   
unsettling.  
  
Kasumi contained her relief as she served glasses of   
milk along with saucers of cookies, absently noting   
Genma-ojisan's loss of appetite. Despite his earlier statement,  
he seemed anything but enjoying the meal. In fact, the same   
went for everyone. She was sure it had somthing to do with   
Ranma's peculiar behavior.  
  
As everyone nibbled on Kasumi's culinary delights,   
Ranma absently put a cookie on his mouth, chewing slowly. The  
moment Kasumi had given him the parcels, he seemed to have   
lost track of the time, only remembering the moment when   
Oyaji mentioned dessert. Wait a minute-what did Kasumi give   
him again?  
  
He looked down at his hand. There it was. wrapped in a   
piece of heavy linen. The covering was sufficiently thick  
that it took a bit of time to figure out what it was, but   
Ranma was fairly certain one of them was a batterred pack.  
Now, how about the others?  
  
He grabbed and squeezed the long ensemble, trying  
to figure their identity by touch. It took some time, but   
eventually, he got a bit of idea upon what the package held.   
It was rather obvious, after all.  
  
His eyes widened, unfocused. This did not escape   
everyone's notice.  
  
Suddenly, Ranma lost his appetite. The cookies did not so  
great anymore.  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
{{{...It started with a scream, only to end in a gurgling   
protest reminiscent of that of a drowning man.   
  
The nameless bodyguard, clad in a business suit, slid   
down to the cold, damp floor. His fingers twitched feebly,   
perhaps in an unconscious protest to his impending demise.   
Perhaps his last thoughts were of the possibility that he could   
muster his defenses to hold off his death?  
  
HE eyed the fallen man with a cold eye. Attempting to   
stave off one's mortality, especially when one faced HIM, was   
a foolhardy effort at best. They would know no redemption, no   
salvation. Not from their allies, friends, or their individual   
gods.  
  
HIS soft-shod shoes patted silently across the darkened  
hall. Slowly, unerringly, they would bring HIM towards HIS   
'client'. HIS lips curled slightly. It would be an honor many  
had received, but few would enjoy for long. Too bad.  
  
  
The place was quite well guarded, for a Yakuza lord's   
demesne. Traps of all sorts, a few pitfalls, Dozens of thugs,   
some hi-tech alarm systems, and assorted sellswords all combined   
to form a formidable defense for uninvited guests, like HIM.   
  
But it wouldn't be enough. Not nearly enough to even slow   
HIM down.  
  
'the Main Office...' HE paused for a bit. All of the   
security cameras were broken. Emergency power had been shut   
down. Perimeter defenses up to the top floor of the building  
were rendered non-functional. And not a single man in sight.  
  
Pathetic.  
  
The huge double door stood ominously in front of HIM.   
Made from tempered titanium alloys and other synthetic composites,   
It had proven itself impenetrable to regular police   
demolitionists.  
  
The barest hint of a frown appeared. Was this the reason  
why this...errand...was assigned to HIM? Something so whimsical  
as a strong gate? HE would find out soon.  
  
Acute senses, powerful enough to shame those of bestial   
predators, extended itself from their normal restraints. Every  
sensory detail, from the most obvious visual clues to the tiniest  
auditory disturbance were stored and analyzed. Finally he came  
to a conclusion. HIS client lay beyond this very doors. And he  
wasn't alone.  
  
Perhaps he'd get a bit of workout tonight.  
  
'Let's see how good his 'guardians' would be...'  
  
HIS blade flashed. A soundless shriek echoed unnaturally  
in the corridor. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then,  
slowly, the door fell inwards in several pieces.  
  
The door revealed an huge room that stretched for several   
dozen meters. Black and white vinyl tiles alternated on the   
floor, set in eerie hexagonal patterns. Gothic buttresses(?)  
decorated the walls, somewhat out of place in the shadowy expanse.  
A single fluted chandelier provided a dim illumination for entire  
space.   
  
Near the very end, between two suit-clad men, sat HIS   
target.  
  
Ah, there he was. And he had some company, too.  
  
"Impressive, most impressive. I did not think anyone could  
penetrate my stronghold, much less a single man."  
  
A tiny curl of the upper lip. All were silent, bound in the  
spell of atrophication.  
  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
  
The Oyabun tried to act nonchalant, but couldn't not hide  
the slightest of shivers that escaped from his shoulders. He was  
afraid, very much so, and had every right to be. He exactly who  
his visitor was, if only by reputation. He doubted if he would  
live through the night.  
  
But he wouldn't go without a fight. He had hired the very   
best of guards for the duration of the week. They would stop this  
assassin. Perhaps, even kill him...  
  
The Oyabun shivered once again, this time in delight. If   
he managed to do exactly that, his reputation would rise among   
the ranks in the Underworld, and many would fear his own self,   
instead. The idea was very attractive.  
  
His visitor had not moved from where he stood, as if waiting for  
something. This suited him just fine. His guards were in the   
process of completing their preparations, hidden deep among the   
shadows of the room. Finishing this, then would they attack in   
concert, sure to slay they slayer. He laughed silently at the   
irony of it all.  
  
Still no reaction from the assassin. Did he know about his   
guards? It made no difference if he did. The Oyabun decided to   
engage him in a simple conversation.  
  
"So, what brings you to my humble abode? Business,   
perhaps?"  
  
There was no answer, nor did he expect one.  
  
He shrugged. Oh well, at least he tried.   
  
"You are quite an interesting fellow, don't you know?   
And very secretive as well. Almost everyone in the world of   
Shadows has some form of knowledge, in one form or another, about   
you. You've become a legend, a modern-day Boogie-man for us   
Humble Merchants." He smirked. His aide had signaled. 'They   
are finished. It is time for them to act.'  
  
He finished with an evil smile, directed at the silent  
man in front of him. "And soon, you shall become a myth, then  
will your name fade into the mists of fables." He laughed once   
again.  
  
He gestured grandly. "Do what is necessary. But do not harm   
his face. I want to see what how our guest really looks."  
  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
  
There was a slight whistling sound, and a couple of shurikens  
imbedded themselves in front of the assassin.   
  
Movement. All around HIM, from several sources. Moving   
faster than ordinary people could see, but due in part to the  
darkness. Dressed in tight-fitting tunics, and wearing assorted   
bladed and edged weapons, they were easily recognizable.  
  
'Ninjas. Around ten of them. How quaint.'  
  
The ninjas had stopped their motion, and now stood still in  
the shadows. They probably thought they'd be invisible. 'Hhmpp,   
as if.'  
  
"Like them? I asked for their assistance a few weeks ago.   
The very best from Iga, and I've personally seen their abilities.  
I've had some trouble in the past, but they've taken care of it  
quite easily before. Just like they'll take care of you."  
  
The ninjas remained still for a while, thinking they could   
use their visual and numerical advantages. They've of heard of   
this particular assassin only from the tales of a few of their   
recent employer's hired guns. But from what they've seen, this   
would be a walk in the park.  
  
HE glared coldly at the assorted shadowy figures trying to   
remain concealed. But their efforts would be all for naught,   
especially from someone like HIM.  
  
HE could wait. Until their amateurish displays were   
finished, HE would wait patiently. HE snorted as HIS gaze swept   
through the room. The shadow warriors of Japan's Iga and Koga   
regions were vastly overrated. Their importance in underworld had   
been blown all out of proportion. Where a once proud, if somewhat   
paranoid (and rightly so), Clan of spies and assassins prospered,   
it had been replaced by a collection of scheming, second-rate   
thugs. The proverbial 'Fall from grace' had only begun. Only the   
dregs were left, not even worth HIS while.  
  
It was a pity, really. The decline had started only in the   
late years of the Reign of Tokugawa Ieyasu, just before the Meiji  
restoration. Now all that was left were little more than performers,   
strutting around for the enjoyment of tourists.   
  
Several 'shaken' imbedding themselves on the floor in front   
of HIS feet shook HIM from his reverie.  
  
"You know, It would be easier for all concerned if you just  
gave up. You ARE outnumbered. Even a man of your obvious talents   
will be hard-pressed to even survive for the night."  
  
The Oyabun's voice took on a low undertone. "Or perhaps you   
could join me? The rewards would be most pleasing, I assure you. We   
could change the flow of power around this country. My sources can   
attest to that."  
  
Finally, for the first time since his arrival, HE answered.   
A whisper, but one that carried his dulcet tones to the farthest   
corners.  
  
"...Your convictions concern me not, dog. I am only here   
to deliver..._Tenchu_..."  
  
The words were received in anger. "Then die like the fool  
that you are!!"  
  
All at once, the shadow warriors converged as one.   
  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
  
The concerted assault began. Weapons had been unlimbered,  
not having been far from their hands in the first place. Bodies  
flew in an unerring flight towards HIM. HE was almost amused at  
their lack of subtlety. Perhaps they thought HE would be easy   
pickings? They didn't know how wrong they were.  
  
So the melee, despite HIS opponent's efforts, began and  
ended in moment. For the ninjas, their last few nanoseconds   
stretched into an entire lifetime. They could see everything in  
crystal clarity, as HIS blade swung faster than their reflexes  
could follow. A sense of absolute helplessness filled their beings  
as they felt the icy coldness of steel flash in their wake.   
  
Powerless. That was all they were. Just as they should be,  
in HIS presence.  
  
HE sheathed HIS blade slowly, ever gentle and smooth in   
motion. They had surrounded HIM, all standing in various   
threatening poses. HE straightened, to look at HIS true target   
right in the eye.  
  
One by one, miniature geysers of blood spurted from nearly  
every superficial artery of the standing ninjas. The air turned   
to red, the salty scents filling his nostrils. Then, just as the   
crimson fountains ended their display, various body parts began  
sliding off from torsos, to splash in the pools of blood that  
now dotted the floor.  
  
Yes, HIS errand was nearly at an end. All obstacles had been  
eliminated, leaving HIM a clear path to HIS goal. Quite a   
predictable climax in his evening actually. There really couldn't  
have been any other conclusion.  
  
Slowly, HE approached the Oyabun, steps slow and measured.  
there was no hurry. The little lordling would die soon enough.  
  
"Wait! Please, mercy!"  
  
HE ignored the plea. The Oyabun had fallen to his knees,  
hysterical from fear and frustration. No quarter will be given.  
Such was the price of one who broke from the shelter of anonymity.  
  
"...Please..."  
  
It was his own fault, really. The Underlord had grown too  
sure of his own influence that he had attracted the wrong kind  
of attention. There was strength in secrecy, and he chose to break  
the cardinal rule.   
  
"...It's not fair..."  
  
When was life ever fair? Destiny threw all sorts of pitfalls  
for one to trip upon. All one could truly do was soften the   
landings, and tend to the wounds. It was a lesson HE learned a   
long time ago. Back when...back when...  
  
"...No...no..."  
  
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"  
  
The sobbing man looked up to his executioner.  
  
"Stay sharp, the evening is still young." heh.  
  
"...Huh?"  
  
"Oyasumi..."  
  
A flash, of silvery metal, and refracted light. A head fell,  
to roll towards the far corner. Another crimson pool formed   
before him, HIS blade still unstained since the beginning.   
Curiously, HE stared at the puddle upon HIS feet. Before it had  
congealed, the flood flowed into a nearly perfect oval of blood.  
Dim lights reflecting from various corners, the puddle had  
become a makeshift mirror. Tilting HIS head just so...  
  
There. A face stared back at HIM. One so familiar, yet...  
different, too. A pair of blue eyes shone several shades darker   
than normal, framed in a face that couldn't have been more than   
a decade and a half old.  
  
HIS reflection tightened a few facial muscles, and soon a   
very tiny smile could be seen. One that was sure to send many   
a person to unreasoning fear, towards the depths of insanity.  
  
"You can't sleep forever..." }}}  
  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
Toda Ichirowas scared.  
  
Yes, scared. Very, very scared.   
  
Walking down the forbidding hallway, a set of folders   
in hand, did nothing to ease his fear. He was about to meet his  
superiors for his monthly report, as he had been doing for the   
past 6 years. He'd been in this job for so long, his perception  
of reality had become a bit blurred at late. He hoped this   
momentary lag from the real world wasn't permanent.  
  
He clutched at the plastic folder with clammy palms, sweat  
dripping. Today would be the day. He hoped that his network was   
wrong. There would be others presenting their cases, but his   
would be the last. An the most crucial. And from what he could   
infer from the information gathered, heads will roll before the   
day was over.  
  
The hallway ended in a smooth wall. Featureless, it belied  
the secrets that eh knew lay beyond. Steeling himself, he raised  
his left hand to press on a unremarkable part of the wall. Like  
an incantation, he pronounced a few words out loud.  
  
"Toda, Ichiro. Chief administrator, Informations."  
  
The section where his palm was pressed glowed briefly,   
then a rectangular tile raised itself. Another section, this one  
directly in front of his face, slid open. The receptacle spat   
out a peculiar device somewhat similar to a binocular, and   
positioned itself over his eyes. A mechanical voice began its  
inquiry.  
  
"**PURPOSE?**"  
  
Toda answered. "Report, periodic presentation. Access :  
Athena-3054."  
  
"**STATUS?**"  
  
His voice trembled a bit as he spoke. "O-operational   
parameters : code yellow. Defcon...2."  
  
There was a slight pause. The low hum of hidden machinery  
filled the air for a few moments. Finally, the once plain black  
wall split in the middle to reveal a passageway leading to an  
elevator.  
  
"**ACCESS APPROVED. THE COUNCIL WILL SEE YOU NOW.**"  
  
Toda nodded to himself. The prospect of meeting his  
superiors once again, as he had done so for several years, turned  
his bones to water. But he would conduct himself with as much   
dignity as he could muster. That was all he could do.  
  
He walked towards the elevator, and the darkness swallowed  
him.  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
The Council. Half a dozen of faceless puppet masters who   
pulled the strings that bound Japan and most of the world. The   
were composed of people of varying racial states. As to why they   
chose Japan as their seat of power, he would never know. They sat   
in a circle, all facing a low podium where Toda stood, prepared   
to give his Report.  
  
Toda's nervousness grew to new heights. Despite having a   
lot practice, nothing could really eliminate the unreasoning fear   
he felt every time he faced the council. Perhaps it was the   
feeling that he was being interrogated by a collection of   
executioners, all waiting for him to make a mistake. The fact   
that he couldn't see their faces heightened this sense.  
  
One of the Council member stirred slightly, to address the  
quivering man.  
  
"Your report, Administrator Toda."  
  
Toda steeled himself for his oratory, however brief it   
might be.  
  
"Sir. Casualties : 2. 1 subject, M.I.A. 1 quarantined   
and restrained at the A-Base for an onset of mild neuropsychosis.   
All the rest are at their specific Branches, awaiting further  
  
instructions pending the Inoshishi Incident. Medical and Security  
crew have no reported anomalies or such."  
  
"Continue."  
  
He took a deep breath and started again.  
  
"Research & Development requests additional funding for  
the upgrading of the restraining matrices for the B-subjects.  
Further investigation of the Halcyon process yielded negative  
results for approximately 93.43% of the B-subjects. Each of their  
life readings are on a steady incline downhill, Sir. The Project  
Director hopes for the best, but chances of survival are   
practically nil."  
  
A collective sigh of resignation could be heard. A   
querulous inquired almost hesitantly.  
  
"Is there no hope for them, Administrator?"  
  
Toda was surprised. This was the first time he'd ever   
heard any of them show any sign of concern for their general  
welfare. Perhaps they weren't so indifferent after all.  
  
"The Director's team is still working 24-7, Sir. But all  
calculations prove that the subjects would not survive for  
another week. 10 days at most."  
  
All were silent, perhaps slowly digesting this last fact.  
But Toda knew that there communication between the Councilmen  
on some level. He was pretty sure they were discussing what to   
do in order to alleviate the loss. After all, manpower,   
especially one so lucrative, was hard to find. Or create.  
  
"We have decided to approve the request from R&D, for the   
duration of the month. The department can ask whatever they want,  
within reason."  
  
Toda nodded. One notch added to his billboard.  
  
"Is there anything else you'd like to share,   
Administrator?"   
  
Toda gulped. This was the hardest part yet. Despite it's  
brevity, the information they've decoded from the encrypted   
messages could very well shake the foundations of Japan. This   
last bit would certainly have an impact all that were   
concerned.  
  
As steadily as he could, Toda began to repeat what his  
officers decoded a few hours earlier.  
  
"This message came 2 hours and 30 minutes ago, from one  
of our Agents stationed near the Izanagi prefecture."  
  
He could see nearly every Council member lean forwards,  
barely able to control themselves in anticipation.  
  
"Message reads : 'Ragnarok nears. The Pantheon is active.'"  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
"Where on earth am I now!?!"  
  
The scream echoed back and forth across the valley,   
gradually fading in strength. The thick canopy of trees screened   
out most of the sunlight, despite it being high noon. Bright   
rays streamed out and danced in a shimmering display that was   
sure to elicit the delight of many. Assorted avians chattered   
their songs in the branches of trees, adding a soothing background   
for it all.  
  
This didn't do a damn thing for a certain Lost Boy, though.  
  
Right now, Ryoga's main concern was how to get back to   
Nerima, and how in the world did he get here in first place.  
  
He looked around and acquainted himself with his   
surroundings. Try as he might, he could not could find any  
familiar landmarks. Not that it would have done him any good.  
His directional sense still showed no signs of improvement. The  
best he could do now was have his lunch, then wander aimlessly  
again. He hoped he'd have a better chance this time.  
  
He took out a kettle out of his ever present pack, some  
instant cup ramen, and his canteen. Gathering a few dry sticks,  
Ryoga set them up on a small pit in the ground, aligning them  
for the best positions. He prepared himself, focusing on   
gathering his ki to light up the firewood. Extra care had to be   
taken in order to control to wellspring of depression he used to   
power the tiny ki blast. One mistake, and he could spiral into a   
vicious circle of negative emotions, blowing up more than the   
pile of firewood. It was hard enough to make the blast hot   
enough to combust the wood.  
  
Depression, he knew, wasn't the best of emotions to be   
Used in a Ki attack. Neither were the rest of them, actually.   
Fear, jealousy, rage, depression - these emotions were too random   
And unreliable to be used in a battle, though that didn't stop   
Him from using it anyway. Emotion powered attacks like these   
drained the willpower, and the subsequent loss of brain power and   
decision-making abilities definitely had their downsides. Besides,  
his own attack, the Shi Shi Hokodan, wasn't as effective as he   
wanted it to be.  
  
The Shi Shi Hokodan was given to him as a scroll,   
originally as a mining technique. His first ki attack, the Iron  
Cloth, and later the Bakusai Tenketsu, weren't enough to beat his   
most hated rival. So it was just a stroke of luck that he came   
upon such a technique to employ against Ranma. A physical   
manifestation of his spirit, an explosion of solid force, that was   
what the ki-attack truly was-a soul bomb. And Ranma shrugs it   
off in a regular basis.  
  
'Ranma...even now that name provokes such irrational   
flickers of...something. Rage..?' he grimaced.  
  
Yes, even his most powerful technique to date was not enough   
to gain the upper hand in their battles. He had thought for sure   
that it would be enough for victory. But once again, he had fallen   
short of his goal.  
  
Ranma had somehow...learned the basics of the attack. Yet   
the pig-tailed boy found that he could not hold on to his   
depression for very long. It simply did not suit his temperament   
well. very So in a brilliant stroke of genius, adapted the attack   
to another form, using the one emotion he had never thought   
possible.  
  
Pride.  
  
And Ranma was sure to have plenty of it. Oodles and oodles,  
perhaps.  
  
And why shouldn?t he? He had every reason.  
  
Ranma had everything. The looks, the body, the girls, and  
the brains(whenever he felt the need to use it, anyway).   
  
Though Ranma wasn't well-to-do, he and his father managed   
to scrape up a living whenever they went. Unlike him, they didn't   
have the bank accounts to use whenever they went short on   
supplies. They seemed to be able to live freely wherever they   
wanted, whenever they wanted. Ryoga envied their freedom.  
  
Why didn't things ever go his way? He was financially well  
off. He had been born to a pair of loving parents, though they   
had been directionally challenged just like him. Every physical  
and emotional need had been sated. So couldn't he be ever   
happy? Why?  
  
He almost didn't noticethe sickly green glow coming from  
his body. But he managed to reign himself once again. Things   
could have gotten worse.  
  
'Dammit, why have I never won decisively against the   
bastard? What does he have that I don't?'  
  
He shivered as he remembered the last time they   
encountered each other. Things had not been pretty to begin with,   
and they went downhill even further after a few hearty insults   
to their honor, ancestry, and the possibility of conceiving   
children.  
  
And Ranma had responded with an increasing apathy, his  
attention seemingly elsewhere. In all their fights, unless he   
had an invincible new technique or something similar, the   
pig-tailed boy would respond with an exaggerated nonchalance,   
weaving in andout of his blows like an eel. But he'd always   
leave a part of his attention on the fight, if only to throw a   
few insults to the mix.  
  
Not this time, though. Ranma began to respond a bit too   
slowly, all the while mumbling inconsistent fallacies. And he   
meant to capitalize on that, while the opportunity presented  
itself. Jabs and knees slipped through more and more. Blows   
that should have been easily evaded hit more often than not.   
And his rival's answering attacks were surprisingly halfhearted.  
Ryoga could barely restrain his glee. This time, the last laugh  
would be his!  
  
One blow; perfectly executed, carrying behind it all the   
considerable power he had at his command. Ranma flew back at  
incredible speed, crashing through a wall on an abandoned  
construction site(thank god for small mercies). And he remembered  
laughing hysterically, euphoric at his apparent victory.  
  
His giggles died down, though, when his hated(?) rival  
strode out of the hole with nary an injury. His clothes had  
seen better days, but he was practically unharmed. A series of   
slow, sure steps revealed total the absence of injuries   
whatsoever.  
  
*'No way...'* he remembered saying out loud.  
  
Ranma had graced him with full attention now. And no, it  
wasn't pretty, especially with his eyes glowing with an inner,  
icy flame. The fact that he had no visible battle aura sought   
to unnerve him even more.  
  
*'You are beginning to lose your entertainment factor,   
Hibiki-san. You are far more annoying than amusing nowadays.'*  
  
He could not truly explain the turmoil he felt at hearing  
those words. But he was sure that one unfamiliar emotion had  
become dominant, overpowering everything else. In the end,   
Ryoga could only howl out an inarticulate response.  
  
*'Ranma, prepare to DIE!!'*  
  
He clenched his eyes shut, determined to stave off the  
memories. What had followed was a brutal fight-no, a fight was   
not the way to describe it. It was a merciless beating, savage   
and deliberate. Ranma had not spared an inch on his body,   
covering him with bruises everywhere. And all the while, showing  
no emotion whatsoever.  
  
Oh, he tried to make a token resistance. He might not   
have his rival's inhuman speed, but his strength was almost   
unparalleled. With the Bakusai Tenketsu training, Ranma's slow,   
measured hits should not have hurt like they did. Yet his best  
efforts were all for naught. The Pigtailed boy plowed through  
his best defenses like they weren't there. Every time an opening  
was revealed, Ryoga was hit by a single, jackhammer blow. The  
strength behind those attacks was mind-boggling. How could   
Ranma have gained such power?  
  
After what seemed like a lifetime, it finally ended. His  
ordeal was over. He lay bleeding and broken on the cracked   
pavement, desperate to lapse into the sweet embrace of   
unconsciousness. His breath came in short, painful gasps. But  
Ranma was not nearly finished, not quite so. As a brutal   
culmination to the day, Ranma approached his battered body,   
still revealing nothing in his features. The pig-tailed boy  
knelt close, whispering to his ear...  
  
*'I can end your pain, Hibiki-san,'* he had hummed   
sibilantly in his ear. *'I can do easily, quickly. You would   
not even notice the journey through the veil of death.   
Would you desire such an existence as you live now?'*  
  
In retrospect, Ryoga wouldn't have thought that as a bad   
idea, especially in the midst of firing a Shi Shi Hokodan.  
  
The whispering continued. *'...Alone, friendless, without   
anything to call your own, plagued by unfathomable urges? To   
wander in search of an intangible...thing, that you might never   
find?   
  
Ryoga stared back with glazed, not really comprehending   
most of what was said. He tried to say something, anything. But  
his throat was too dry, raw from all the hoarse screaming he   
had done earlier, from his roars of rage to higher-pitched cries   
of pain.  
  
*'What have you been searching for, all these years,   
fallen one? Whatever had possessed you to throw aside some of   
the comforts of civilization, for the your own invisible need?  
Are you tired of such an existence, of being the repository   
of such despair? Tell me, Hibiki-san. Just say the word, and   
I shall grant to you...freedom...'*  
  
Such darkness...such coldness in those eyes. For how long  
had such inhumanity lain hidden beneath the once innocent,   
cerulean orbs? Had the darkness always been there, merely  
hidden behind an iron curtain, or had spontaneously sprung  
forth in conjunction with the aftershocks of being   
disillusioned?  
  
He had been tempted. So tempted, that he had considered   
his offer, if only for a moment. What would he say to him? What   
should he say?  
  
*'No...no. Not..yet...'* He managed to croak out.  
  
Imperceptibly, Ranma had nodded, much to his relief. He   
idly noted that it was already dark.  
  
*'Good. You still have your spirit.'* He had nodded once   
again, this time more to himself than anything else. *'Then you  
shall live. Live, to do as you wish. For now'*  
  
He could do nothing but gurgle in reply. Ranma straightened,  
an arm outstretched, pointing in his direction. For one   
terrifying moment, he thought Ranma would launch a blast that   
was sure to kill him in his weakened state. His eyes widened in   
disbelief as a soft glow enveloped his body, coaxing his body to  
heal itself. As Ryoga felt his injuries gradually repair itself,  
he grew drowsier and drowsier, until he could no longer keep  
his eyes open. Before he could lapse into slumber, he had heard  
Ranma whisper once more :  
  
*'I will not be so...lenient next time. Oyasumi...'*  
  
The next time he woke up, it was already light outside.   
Only a night had passed, and most of his bruises had started to   
fade already. Gingerly, he felt around for his pack, and had   
begun his decade-old practice of wandering aimlesslyonce  
again. But the turmoil would leave him, the memories of the  
previous night stuck deep inside his subconscious...  
  
What had he felt in those few minutes of brutality? He  
asked himself. What was the prevalent sense that had nearly  
overpowered his sensibilities, freezing him in stasis, like he  
had never faced another warrior in combat before? WHAT had he  
felt?  
  
.........  
  
.........  
  
Strange. Unfamiliar. Disturbing. Very much so.  
  
.........  
  
.........  
  
Oh, yes. Now he knew. No matter how hard he felt about   
denying it. He had no choice but to be honest, hard as it is to   
be done.  
  
.........  
  
Fear. Pure, unadulterated Fear.  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
  
Ranma woke up restless and exhausted. He glanced at   
the phosphorescent dials of his wall clock, the timepiece  
telling him he had awakened 3 hours earlier that usual. He   
probably wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, now that   
he thought about. It was surprising. He was sure he had   
dreamed, but he wasn't sure what the dream had been all   
about. All he knew was that when Morpheus lost his tenuous  
grip on him, he found himself holding the items he had   
recieved last night.  
  
  
  
He sat cross-legged upon his futon, clad only in his   
boxers, cradling the swords like newborn babes. Ranma stared   
out into the darkness, searching...for what? He himself did   
not know. Perhaps it would come if he thought about it hard   
enough.  
  
  
  
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, gentle and  
curious. Asking for an reply he did not know how to answer.  
Or maybe, did not _want_ to answer?  
  
  
  
Why had he carried these...artifacts...before? He could  
not remember a time in which he had used a weapon at any given  
length of time, despite his proficiency in them. Yet he must   
have, but the memories eluded him.  
  
  
  
He must have used the pair, one time or another. He   
could not remember much, almost as if parts of his mind   
was a blank slate, that had a section wiped clean. But his  
finger caressed the weapons in a hauntingly familiar manner.  
  
  
  
He drew one of the blades from its scabbard. It slid  
out of its confinement with a soft hiss, grateful, he   
supposed, of its freedom. Twisting his wrist slightly,   
moonlight reflections shifting all across the room, Ranma  
once again marveled at its beauty. Such beauty, such   
perfection. Perfectly suited to cut the air with least bit  
of resistance, or...  
  
-cutting through flesh and bone like a hot knife   
through butter, flashing blade spraying crimson droplets   
all around in its wake, an elegant display of-  
  
He staggered a bit at the mental picture. Where   
the hell did it come from? He shook his head to clear   
it, his eyes gradually drawing back to the hypnotic play  
of reflections on the sword. _HIS_ sword...  
  
-unstoppable, both by steel or sinew. Unhampered  
by the physical constraints as dictated by the ignorant  
fools that comprised most of the _Lambs_. How easily had  
his weapons sliced through-  
  
His fist slammed into his forehead with enough force  
to send shockwaves, rattling the window frames of his   
room. It would leave a nasty bruise, but Ranma felt it   
was worth the effort. Besides, he knew from experience   
that the bruise would disappear in a few minutes, an hour  
at most. What was important was that it accomplished its  
purpose.  
  
Ranma stood up, staggering a bit as he did. Where  
in he world had these images come from? It couldn't be   
coincidence-he had enough experiences with the bizarre  
that things like these never happened without a reason.  
It just was a matter of finding out what. The reason might   
even turn out as petty as a bread feud...  
  
'Why?' Ranma wondered silently. 'What's happening to  
me? Why can't I remember some things?'  
  
  
  
It was back to square one. Why had he carried these   
blades before? What purpose had these served in the past?  
Why? Why?  
  
  
  
-lack of a sharpened edge never deterred the weapon  
from its purpose, destiny shaped by its wielder. Skill directed  
its force, behind it, the will of one who knew no master.   
Rebirth and Death, they were as-  
  
He cried out in anger and frustration, his fist once  
again connecting with a sorely abused cranium. This time, the  
thin dermal layer between his knuckles and head split, and  
blood seeped from the wound. There would be no hiding this one.  
It would a couple of hours before the wound closed up.  
  
Ranma gasped heavily, despite the lack of exertion. He   
tottered towards the window, opened because of the heat. 'Why   
must I be tormented so? What could I have ever done to deserve  
this? Why?!?'  
  
-Why?!? You ask why...Why...-  
  
He opened his eyes painstakingly, as if afraid to see  
the darkened sky. He glanced at his fist, resisting the urge  
to slam it once again on his noggin. Answers will not come,  
simply because he wanted to. It just wasn't that easy, he  
supposed.  
  
He sat back heavily on the futon, a hand over his coldly   
wet fingers. Fingers, wet with...  
  
-blood. Blood as red as the deepest crimson. Coating the  
floor, the bodies, the walls, but never on the blade. Immaculate   
as ever since the day it was forged. Blood could never touch   
it, no matter how much it had spilled in the service of-  
  
He could do nothing, nothing at all. All he could do   
was pray for deliverance. And at the same time, he was sure  
it would never come, not until all had been revealed.  
  
Blood. He had never spilled blood before. At least,   
not before Jusendo, and the Battle with a winged nemesis. But  
he knew that he could never do that, not until that fateful  
day, for as long as he could remember. Remember..  
  
-nothing. There would be nothing, no memories to be left,  
nothing to hold on. Nothing must be left, to protect the-  
  
He could do nothing. Nothing.  
  
  
  
At least, now, one of the questions had been answered.   
Ranma now knew, with absolute certainty, why he 'carried' these..  
he could find no word unflattering enough to describe the   
weapons, these...unholy implements.  
  
'The Saotome Family Sword is a weapon of honor, used as  
the clan's insignia...and occasionally, as a weapon in duels of  
honor, long ago...'  
  
He breathed heavily, as he sought to push through the fog  
clouding his mind.  
  
'These...they've never carried any sort honor...' his eyes  
glittered darkly. Darker than even the shadowy room. Darker, it  
seemed, than the deepest purple shade. A sight that would have  
startled all that knew him.  
  
'Their only purpose...were as harbingers...of death...'  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
End chapter 2.  
  
  
====*====*====  
  
  
  
Damn, this stuff's been in hiatus for so long. I blame myself  
(mostly), and other assorted idiots close to the branches of my   
family tree. Finally finished the damn thing too. Chapter three's   
mostly done, but I'm not making any promises. Learned that the hard  
way. Sorry, but this part's too introspective, not enough gratuitous   
violence for my taste.  
  
Don't worry, things are about to heat up soon. And some nasty   
revelations are about to be uncovered. Oh, this doesn't include  
revealing the plots. Heh, expect Cameos galore!! 


End file.
